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THE 


WORKS 


OF 


THOMAS REID, D.D. F.R.S.. 


EDINBURGH. 


LATE PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 


WITH AN 


ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE AND WRITINGS, 
BY DUGALD STEWART, F.RS. . 
9 @eu~ 
IN THREE VOLUMES. 


VOL. Ii. 


NEW-YORK : 


°UBLISHED BY E. DUYCKINCK, COLLINS AND HANNAY, 
AND R. AND W. A. BARTOW. 


J. & J. Harper, Printers. 


—ee 


1822. 


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CONTENTS 


TO THE THIRD VOLUME. 


ESSAYS ON THE ACTIVE POWERS OF THE HUMAN MIND. 


Chap. Page 


Intropucriaoy « 5s » 2ihd Qo eee se 


ESSAY I. 


OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL. 


raOrithe notion of active power . +. sk =) Rael Sv dquemn alk WA caate 
Eee SANE SUDIECE )o. kus ptiitteyhGimewalh Bult 5) lsut ohn ee gk 
zu. Of Mr. Locke’s account of our idea of power - . - . : ... 19 
iy. Of Mr. Hume’s opinion of the idea of power PHU Se fhe NT 

v. Whether beings that have no will nor understanding may have active 
DOWER ai wubiebiay nah, Wie vied | mun ee iii Sat date) pal yl Riana ROM Re ee 
vi. Of the efficient causes of the phenomena of nature . . .. . . 80 
vu. Of the extent of human power . ..... ... =... 5. 35 

ESSAY II. 
OF THE WILL. 

i. Observations concerning the will . . i Daa ea Pee ec RANGER yl ew A La 22 
i. Of the influence of incitements and motives upon thewill . . . 47 
ur. Of operations of mind which may be called voluntary . . . . . 54 
Rupee uate: 6 (arc, at Lh Aa wan een SURI RR Sa PRE 68 


~Eny A Oar 
BS Tey oa OB GO 


Vi CONTENTS. a 


ESSAY Il. 


OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
PART I. OF THE MECHANICAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 


ne Page 

x. Of the principles of action in ne cos Bio 9 oe OG 
u. Of instinct . . RB i sy ual OI 
my Of habit.) 6k ly ee ey ae ir ae teat nee 

ESSAY Ill. 
PART Il. OF ANIMAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 

TMOF appetites, 9: SS) Pvt) Ft 20 Oe ee 
ui. Of desires .. MPM Py 
in. Of benevolent affection in general MPM ss ye 
rv. Of the particular benevolent affections . . .-..+... -. + 9 
v._Of malevolent affection... . «+ «= =) sven 
wa. Of passion 2 6 5) wes en 0 
wir: OF disposition . |)... 0. «vos! + Sos 5) 

vir. Of/opinion, .)!2 LF 20.2 1 a nme 


ESSAY Ill. 
PART Ill. OF THE RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 


x. There are rational principles of actioninman , .-.. . . . 186 
ir. Of regard to our goodonthe whole ....... +... . 137 
ui. The tendency of this principle . - - .. . +... ... . Wi 
iv. Defects of this principle . at skp maid toe aaa eee 

v. Of the notion of duty, rectitude, moral obligation vi oe aah aph eeeeD 
vi. Of the sense of duty . . ee en ee ER 
vu. Of moral approbation ‘and disapprobation MMi iin de ore a 

vu. Observations concerning conscience: ).00) ) 2°)" nee 
ESSAY IV. 


OF THE LIBERTY OF MORAL AGENTS» 


x. The notions of moral liberty and necessity stated. . . . . = 178 
ul. Of the words cause and effect, action, andactive power .. . « 178 
im. Causes of the ambiguity of those words ; . . > . .\—_———nie 
rv. Of the influence of motives . . PEE fee 

v. Liberty consistent with government. ok + + | ee eset 
vi. Pirst argument forliberty ... . . 1) 2%.) «0. Gee 
wis. Second argument... = «+, «is; -=})) = yee 

vin. Third argument .". sn +o, ey etiel Bn ee 
1x. Of arguments for necessity . . - . «+ + + + + + « + +216 

x. The same subject . . egw an eo Np bw) 2k gga irri 


x. OF the permission of evil oe NN et es 


CONTENTS. vii 


ESSAY V. 
QF MORALS. 

Chap. Page 
1. Of the firstprinciples of morals . . . . ..... 2... 288 
iu. Of systems of morals . . a fe et as oh Saker eee tral 

- 249 


in. Of systems of natural jurisprudence F 
rv. Whether an action deserving moral approbation, must be done with 


the belief of its being morally good. ot aie oan 

vy. Whether justice be a natural or an artificial virtue | 1... . 268 

vi. Of the nature and obligation of acontract . . . . . . +. . 286 

vit, That moral approbation impliesa real judgment . . . +... . 301 
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stabi ded 


ESSAYS 


THE ACTIVE POWERS 


HUMAN MIND. 


INTRODUCTION. 


.t) THE division of the faculties of the human mind into indies: 


standing and Will is very ancient, and has been very generally — 


* 
FRX 


adopted ; the former comprehending all our speculative, the late ‘ 


ter all our active powers. 

It is evidently the intention of our Maker, that man should 
be an active, and not merely a speculative being. For this . 
purpose, certain active powers have been given him, limited in- | 
deed in many respects, but suited to his rank and place in the — 
creation. : re 

Our business is to manage these powers, by proposing to our- 
selves the best ends, planning the most proper system of conduct 
that is in our power, and executing it with industry and zeal. 
This is true wisdom ; this is the very intention of our being. 

Every thing virtuous and praiseworthy must lie in the right 
use of our power; every thing vicious and blameable in the 
abuse of it. What is not within the sphere of our power can- — 
not be imputed to us either for blame or praise. These are 
self-evident truths, to which every unprejudiced mind yields an 
immediate and invincible assent. 


Knowledge derives its value from this, that it enlarges our _ 


power, and directs us in the application of it. For in the right 
employment of our active power consists all the honour, dignity 
and worth of a man; and in the abuse and perversion of it, all 
vice, corruption and depravity. 

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~ We are distinguished from the brute animals, not less by our 
‘active than by our speculative powers. 
2 othe brutes are stimulated to various actions by their instincts, 
"by their appetites, by their passions ; but they seem to be ne- 
_. cessarily determined by the strongest impulse, without any €a- 
_ pacity of self government. Therefore we do not blame them 
~ *» for what they do; nor have we any reason to think that they 
~~ blame themselves. They may be trained up by discipline, but 
~~. scannot be governed by law. There is no evidence that they 
~~ have the conception of a law, or of its obligation. : 
» © Man is capable of acting from motives of a higher nature. 
» + He perceives a dignity and worth in one course of conduct, a 
» demerit and turpitude in another, which brutes have not the ca- 
pacity to discern. 


. He perceives it to be his duty to act the worthy and the hon- 

. ourable part, whether his appetites and passions incite him to 

‘ it, or to the contrary. When he sacrifices the gratification of 
# the strongest appetites or passions to duty, this is-so far from 


diminishing the merit of his conduct, that it greatly increases it, 
and affords, upon reflection, an inward satisfaction and triumph, 
of which brute animals are not susceptible. When he acts a 
contrary part, he has a consciousness of demerit, to which they 
are no less strangers. 
, Since, therefore, the aclive powers of man make so important 
a part of his constitution, and distinguish him so eminently front 
his fellow animals, they deserve no less to bé the subject of 
philosophical disquisition than his intellectual powers. 
» A just knowledge of our powers, whether intellectual or ac- 
tive, isso far of real importance to us, as it aids. us in the exer- 
cise of them. And every man must acknowledge, that to act 
properly, is mach more valuable than to think justly or reason 
acutely. ‘ 


, 


ESSAY I. ee iad 


OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL. 


CHAPTER If. 
OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 


TO consider gravely what is meant by active power, may 
seem altogether unnecessary, and to be mere trifling. | It is 
not a term of art, buta common word in our language, used 
every day in discourse, even by the vulgar. We find words of 
the same meaning in all other languages ; and there is no rea- 
son to think that it is not perfectly understood by all men who 
understand the English language. 

’ [believe all this is true, and that an attempt to explain a word 
so well understood, and to show that it has a meaning, requires 
an apology. 


The apology is, that this term so » well understood by the val- , 


gar, has been darkened by philosophers, who, in this, as in many 
other instances, have found great difficulties aWout a pre 
which, to the rest of mankind, seems perfectly clear. 

This has been the more easily effected, because power is a 
thing so much of its ownkind, and so simple i in * nature, as not 
to admit of a logical definition. 

It is well known, that there are many things pencil under- 
stood, and of which we have clear and distinct conceptions, 
which cannot be logically defined. No man_ever attempted to 
define magnitude ; yet there is no word whose meaning is more 
distinctly or more generally understood. We cannot give a lo- 
gical definition of thought, of duration, of number, or of motion. 

When men attempt to define such things, they give no light. 
They may give a synonymous word or phrase, but it will pro- 
bably be a worse for a better. If they will define, the definition 
will either be grounded upon a hypothesis, or it will darken the 
subject rather than throw light upon it. ine 

_ The Aristotelian definition of motion, that itis “ Actus dali 
in polentia, quatenus in potentia,”” has been justly censured by mo- 


dern philosophers ; yet I think it is matched by what a celebra- _- 
ted modern philosopher has given us, as the most accurate defimi- 


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$ ESSAY T. 


tion of belief, to wit, “ That it isa lively idea related to, or as-. 
sociated with a present impression.” Treatise of Human Na- 
. ture, vol. 1. p. 172. ‘* Memory,” according to the same philo- 
sopher, “is the faculty by which we repeat our impressions, so 
as that they retain a considerable degree of their first vivacity, 


~ and are somewhat intermediate between an idea and an impres- 


a 


ad a 


a 


sion.” 

' Euclid, if his editors have not done him injustice, has attempt- 
ed to define a right line, to define unity, ratio, and number. But 
‘these definitions are good for nothing. We may indeed suspect 
them not to be Euclid’s; because they are never once quoted 
in the Elements, and are of no use. , 

I shall not therefore attempt to define active power, that I 
may not be liable to the same censure ; but shall offer some ob- 
servations that may lead us to attend to the conception we have 
of it in our own minds. 


' Ist, Power is not an object of any of our external senses, nor 


- evenan object of consciousness. 


That it is not seen, nor heard, nor touched, nor tasted, nor 
smelt, needs no proof. That we are not conscious of it, in the 
proper sense of that word, will be no less evident, if we reflect, 
that consciousness is that power of the mind by which it has an 


_ immediate knowledge of its own operations. Power is not an 


he 
Th 


operation of the mind, and therefore no object of consciousness. 
Indeed every operation of the mind is the exertion of some 
power of the mind ; but weare conscious of the operation only, 


_ the power lies behind the scene; and though we may justly in- 


(a 


ne 


_ fer the power from the operation, it must be remembered, that 


- inferring is not the province of consciousness, but of reason. 


I acknowledge, therefore, that our having any conception or 
idea of power is repugnant to Mr. Locke’s theory, that all our 
simple ideas are got either by the external senses, or by con- 
sciousness. Both cannot be true. Mr. Hume perceived this re- 
pugnancy, and consistently maintained, that we have no idea of 
power. Mr. Locke did not perceive it. If he had, it might 
have led him to suspect his theory ; for when theory is repug- 
nant to fact, it is easy to see which ought to yield. Iam con- 
scious that I have a conception or adea of power, but, strictly 
speaking, 1 am not conscious that I have power, a aye 

I shall have occasion to show, that we have very early, from 
-our constitution, a conviction or belief of some degree of active 
power inourselves. This belief, however, is not consciousness : 
for we may be deceived in it; but the testimony of conscious- 
ness can never deceive. Thus, a man who is struck with a 
palsy in the night, commonly knows not that he has lost the 
power of speech till he attempts to speak ; he knows not whether 
he can move his hands and arms till he makes the trial ; and if, 
without making trial, he-consults his consciousness ever so atten- 


OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 9, 
tively, it will give him no information. whether he has lost these © 
wers, or still retains them. 

From this we must conclude, that the powers we have are not 
an object of consciousness, though it would be foolish to cen- 
sure this way of speaking in popular discourse, which requires 
not accurate attention to the different provinces of our various 
faculties. The testimony of consciousness is always unerring, 
nor was it ever called in question by the greatest skeptics, ancient 
or modern. 

2dly, A second observation is, that as there are some things of 
which we have a direct, and others of which we have only a 
relative conception, power belongs to the latter class, 

As this distinction is overlooked by most writers in logic, I shali 

beg to illustrate ita little, and then shall apply it to the stbaige 
— subject. 

Of some things, we know what they are in themselves ; oes 
conception of such things I call direct. Of other things, we know me 
not what they are in themselves, but only that they have cer- 
tain properties or attributes, or certain relations to _— things : 
of these our conception is only relative. 

To illustrate this by some examples ; in the aniatany library, — » 
Tcall for the book. press L, shelf 10. No. 10. the library keep- 
er must have such a conception of the book | want, as to be. 
able to distinguish it from ten thousand that are under his « 

But what conception does he form of it from my words ? T 
inform him neither of the author, nor the subject, nor the lan- 
guage, nor the size, nor the binding, but only of its mark and 
place. Hisconception of it is merely relative to these cian 
stances ; yet this relative notion enables him to distinguish if 
from every other book in the library. A 

There are other relative notions that are not taken from acci- at 
dental relations, as in the example just now mentioned, but Game v 

ualities or attributes essential to the thing. : 

Of this kind are our notions both of body and adit: What 
is body? It is, say philosophers, that which is extended, solid, 
and divisible. Says the querist, I do not ask what the proper-— 
ties of body are, but what is the thing itself 2? Let me first know _ 
directly what body is. and then consider its properties. To this — 
demand I am afraid the querist will meet with no satisfactory 
answer ; because our notion of body is not direct but relative to. 
its qualities. We know that it is something a solid, nity 
divisible, and we know no more. 

Again, if it should be asked, What is voiced ? It is that which 
thinks. [| ask not what it ines, or what its operations are, but 
what it is ? To this | can find no answer; our notion of ‘mind 
being not direct, but relative to its operations, as our notion of _ 
body is relative to its qualities. = 

There are even many of the qualities of body, of which we : 


ae 


10 ESSAY Le 


have only a relative conception. Whatis heatina body? Itisa 
‘quality which affects the sense of touch ina certain way. If 
you want to know, not how it affects the sense of touch, but 
what it is in itself; this I confess | know not. My conception 
of it is not direct, but relative to the effect it has upon bodies. 


The notions we have of all those qualities* which Mr. Locke © 
 ealls secondary, and of those he calls powers of bodies, such as 


the power of the magnet to attract iron, or of fire to burn wood, 
are relative. 

Having given examples of things of which our conception is 
only relative, it may be proper to mention some of which it is 
direct. Of this kind, are all the primary qualities of body ; 
figure, extension, solidity, hardness fluidity, and the like. Of 
these we have a direct and immediate knowledge from our senses. 
To this class belong also all the operations of mind of which we 

“are conscious. | know what thought is, what memory, what a 
purpose, what a promise. : 

There are some things of which we can have botha direct and 
a relative conception. I can directly conceive ten thousand 
men or ten thousand pounds, because both are objects of sense, 
and may be seen. But whether I see such an object, or di- 
rectly conceive it, my notion of it is indistinct ; it is only that 


of a great multitude of men, or of a great heap of money ; 
and a small addition or diminution makes no perceptible change 


in the notion I form in this way. But I can form a relative 
~notion of the same number of men or of pounds, by attending 
_ to the relations which this number has to other numbers, greater 


_orless. Then I perceive that the relative notion is distinet and 


‘scientific. For the addition of a single man, or a single pound, 
or even of a penny, is easily perceived. mae 
In like manner, I can form a direct notion of a polygon of a 
thousand equal sides and equa! angles. This direct notion 
eannot be more distinct, when conceived in the mind, than that 
which I get by sight, when the object is before me; and I find 
it so indistinct, that it has the sanie appearance to my eye, or to 
my direct conception, as a polygon of a thousand and one, or of 
nine hundred and ninety-nine sides. But when I forma relative 
conception of it, by attending to the relation it bears to polygons 
of a greater or less number of sides, my notion of it becomes 
distinct and scientific, and I can demonstrate the properties by 
which it is distinguished from all other polygons. From these 
instances it appears, that our relative conceptions of things are 
not always less distinct, nor less fit materials for accurate 
reasoning, than those that are direct; and that the contrary may 
happen in a remarkable degree. ' 
_ Our conception of power is relative to its exertions or effects. 
Power is one thing; its exertion is another thing. It is true, 
there can be no exertion without power: but there may be 


ON THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. if . 


power that is not exerted) Thus a man may have power to 
speak when he is silent: he may have power to rise and walk 
when he sits still. 

But, though it be one thing to speak, and another to have the 
power of speaking, I apprehend we conceive of the power as 
something which has a certain relation to the effect. And of 
every power we form our notion by the effect which it is.able 
to produce. 

3dly, It is evident that power is a quality, and cannot exist 
without a subject to which it belongs. 

That power may exist without any being or subject to which 
that power may be attributed, is an absurdity, shocking to ever 
man of common understanding. 

__ It is a quality which may be varied, not only in degree, but 
also in kind; and we distinguish both the kinds and degrees by 
the effects which they are able to produce. 

Thus a power to fly, and a power to reason, are different 
kinds of power, their effects being different in kind. Buta 
power to carry one hundred weight, and a power to carry two 
hundred, are different degrees of the same kind. 

4thly, We cannot conclude the want of power from its not 
being exerted ; nor from the exertion of a less degree of power, 
can we conclude that there is no greater degree in the subject. 
Thus, though a man on a particular occasion said nothing, we 
cannot conclude from that circumstance, that he had not the 


at 


power of speech ; nor from a man’s carrying ten pounds weight, — 


can we conclude that he had not the power to carry twenty. .» 
5thly, There are some qualities that have a contrary, others 
that have not; power is a quality of the latter kind. 

Vice is contrary to virtue, misery to happiness, hatred to love, 
negation to affirmation; but there is no contrary to power. 
Weakness or impotence are defects or privations of power, 
but not contraries to it. . 

Jf what has been said, of power be easily understood, and 
readily assented to, by all who understand our language, as I 
believe it is, we may from this justly conclude, that we have a 
distinct notion of poywer, and may reason about it with under- 
standing, though we can give no logigggmeinition of it. 

If power were a thing of which we have no ideas, as some 
philosophers have taken much pains to prove, that is, if power . 
were a word without any meaning, we could neither affirm nor 
deny any thing concerning it with understanding. We should 
have equal reason to say that it isa substance, as that it isa 
quality; that it does not admit of degrees, as that it does. If the 
understanding immediately assents to one of these assertions, 
and revolts from the contrary, we may conclude with certainty, 
that we put some meaning upon the word power, that is, that we 
have some idea of it. And it is chiefly for the sake of this 


- 


te 


* 


18 WSSAY 1, 
conclusion, that | have enumerated so many obvious things con- 
cerning it. 

The term aetive power is used, 1 conceive, to distinguish it 
from speculative powers. As all languages distinguish action 
from speculation, the same distinction is applied to the powers 

_ by which they are produced. The powers of seeing, hearing, 
‘remembering, distinguishing, judging, reasoning, are speculative 
powers; the power of executing any work of art or labour is 
active power. . t 

There are many things related to power, in such a manner, 
that we can have no notion of them if we have none of power. 

The exertion of active power we call action ; and as every 
action produces some change, so every change must be caused 
by some exertion, or by the cessation of some exertion of power. 
That which produces a change by the exertion of its power, we 
call the cause of that change; and the change produced, the 
effect of that cause. n Die 

When one being, by its active power, produces any change 
upon another, the last is said to be passive, or to be acted upon. 
Thus wesee, that action and passion, cause and effect, exertion 
and operation, have such a relation to active power, that if it 
be understood, they are understood of consequence; but if 

» power be a word without any meaning, all those words which 
are related to it, must be words without any meaning. They 
are, however, common words in our language; and equivalent 
words have always been common in all languages. — ert) 

It would be very strange indeed, if mankind had always used 
these words so familiarly, without perceiving that they had 
no meaning; and that this discovery should have been first made 
by a philosopher of the present age. . 

With equal reason it might be maintained, that though there 
are words in all languages to express sight, and words to signify 
the various colours which are objects of sight; yet that all 
mankind from the beginning of the world had been blind, and 
never had an idea of sight or of colour. But there are no 
absurdities so gross as those which philosophers have advanced 
concerning ideas. ‘ 


13 


CHAPTER Il. 


THE SAME SUBJECT. a 

THERE are, I believe, no abstract notions, that are/to be 
found more early, or more universally, in the minds of men, 
than those of acting, and being acted upon. Every child that 
understands the distinction between striking and being struck, 
must have the conception of action and passion. 

We find accordingly, that there is no language so imperfect, 
but that it has active and passive verbs, and participles; the one 
signifying some kind of action; the other the being acted upon. 
This distinction enters into the original contexture of all lan- 
guages. 

Active verbs have a form and construction proper to them- 
selves; passive verbs a different form and a different construc- 
tion. In all languages, the nominative to an active verb is the 
agent;) the thing acted upon is put,in an oblique case. In pas- \ 
sive verbs, the thing acted upon is the nominative, and the 
agent, if expressed, must be in an oblique case ; as in this ex- 
ample: Raphael drew the Cartoons; the Cartoons were drawn 
by Raphael. li s 

Every distinction which we find in the structure of all lan-— 
guages, must have been familiar to those who framed the lan- 
guages at first, and to all who speak them with understanding.’ 

It may be objected to this argument, taken from the structure 
of language, in the use of active and passive verbs, that active 
verbs are not always used to denote an action, nor is the nomi- 
native before an active verb conceived in all cases to be an 
agent in the strict sense of that word; that there age many pas- 
sive verbs which have an active signification, and active verbs 
which have a passive. From these facts, it may be thought a 
just conclusion, that in contriving the different forms of active 
and passive verbs, and their different construction, men have not 
been governed by a regard to any distinction between action and 
passion, but by chance, or some accidental cause. 

In answer to this objection, the fact on which it is founded, 
must be admitted; but I think the conclusion not justly drawn . 
from it, for the following reasons. 

ist, Itseems contrary to reason, to attribute to chance or acci- 
dent, what is subject to rules, even though there may be excep- 
tions to the rule. The exceptions may, in such a case, be 
attributed to accident, but the rule cannot. There is perhaps 
hardly any thing in language so general, as not to admit of ex- 
ceptions. {t cannot be denied to be a general rule, that verbs 
and participles have an active and a passive voice; and as this 

VOL. Wi. 3 


VS Aa 


14 , ESSAY I. 


is a general rule, not in one language only, but in all the jangua- 
“ges we are acquainted with, it shows evidently that men, in the 
earliest stages, and in all periods of society, have distinguished 
action from passion. 
Qdly, It is to be observed, that the forms of lenheane are often 

applied to purposes different from those for which they were 
originally intended. ‘The varieties of a language, even the most 
perfect, can never be made equal to all the variety of human 
conceptions. The forms and modifications of language must 
be confined within certain limits, that they may not exceed the 
capacity of human memory. Therefore, in all languages, there 
must be a kind of frugality used, to make one form of expres- 
sion serve many different purposes, like sir Hudibras’s dagger, 
which, though made te stab or break a head, was put to many 
other uses. Many examples might be produced of this frugality 
inlanguage. Thus the Latins and Greeks had five or six cases 
of nouns, to express all the various relations that one thing could 
bear to another. The genitive case must have been at first 
intended to express some one capital relation; such as that of 
' possession or of property; but it would be very difficult to enu- 
merate all the relations which, in the progress of language, it 
was used to express. The same observation may be applied to 
other cases of nouns. 

- The slightest similitude or analogy is thought sufficient to 
justify the extension of a form of speech beyond its proper 
meaning, whenever the language does not afford a more proper 
form. In the moods of verbs, a few of those which occur most 
frequently are distinguished by different forms, and these are 
made to supply all the forms that are wanting. The same obsex- 
vation may be appliéd to what is called the voices of verbs. An 
active and a passive are the capital ones; some languages 
have more,but no language so many as to answer to all the va- 
riations of human thought. We cannot always coin new ones, 
and therefore must use some one or other of those that are to 
be found in the language, though at first intended for another 

urpose. 
' 3dly,. A third observation in answer to the. objection is, that 
we can point out a cause of the frequent misapplication of active 
verbs, to things which have no proper activity: a cause which 
extends to the greater part of such misapplications, and, which 
confirms the account I have givels of the proper intention of 
active and passive verbs. Barkin ce 
As there is no principle, that appears to be more universally 

acknowledged by mankind, from the first dawn of reason, than 
that every change we observe: in nature must have a cause; so 
this is no sooner perceived, than there arises in the human mind, 
a strong desire to know the causes of those changes that fall 
within our observation. Felina qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas. 


ii 


~ 


OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 1a 


is the voice of nature inall men. Nor is there any thing that 
more early distinguishes the rational from the brute creation, 
than this avidity to know the causes of things, of which I see no 
sign in brute animals. 

- It must surely be admitted, that in those periods wherein lan- 
guages are formed, men are but poorly furnished for carrying on 
this investigation with success. We see, that the experience of 
thousands of years is necessary to bring men into the right track 
in this investigation, if indeed they can yet be said to be brought 
into it. What innumerable errors rude ages must fall into, with 
regard to causes, from impatience to judge, and inability to 
jadge right, we may conjecture from reason, and may see from 
experience ; from which I think, it-is evident, that supposing 
active verbs to have been originally intended to express what ts 
properly galled action, and their nominatives to express the 
agent; yet, in the rude and barbarous state wherein languages 
are formed, there must be innumerable misapplications of such 
verbs and nominatives, and many things spoken of as active, 
which have no real activity. 

To this we may add, that it is a general prejudice of our 
early years, and of rude’ nations, when we perceive any thing 
to be changed, and do not perceive any other thing which we 
can believe to be the cause of that change, to impute it to the 
thing itself, and conceive it to be active and animated, so far as_ 
to have the power of producing that change in itself. Hence, 
toa child, or to a savage, all nature seems to be animated; the 
sea, the earth, the air, the sun, moon, and stars, rivers, fountains, 
and groves, are conceived to be active and animated beings. 
As thisis ‘a sentiment natural to man in his rude state, it has, on 
that account, even in polished nations, the versimilitude that is 
required in poetical fiction and fable, and makes personification 
one of the most agreeable figures in poetry and eloquence. 


The origin of this prejudice probably is, that we judge of | 


other things by ourselves, and therefore are disposed to ascribe — 
to them that life and activity which we know to be in ourselves. 
A little girl ascribes to her doll, the passions and sentiments: 
she feels in herself.’ Even brutes seem to have something of 
this nature. A young cat, when she sees any brisk motion in a 


feather or a straw, is prompted, by natural instinct, to hunt itas . 


she would hunt a mouse. 


Whatever be the origin of this prejudice.in mankind, Fah has a. ; 


powerful influence upon language, and leads men, in the struc- 
ture of language, to ascribe action to many things that are mere- 
dy passive ; because, when such forms of speech were invented, 
those things were really believed tobe active. Thus nes 
the wind blows, the sea rages, the sun rises and sets, bodies gra- 
vitate and move. NaS PES Te 
When experience ‘discovers that these things are altogether 


16 ESSAY 1. 


inactive, it is easy to correct our opinion about thems but it is 
not so easy to alter the established forms of language. The 
most perfect and the most polished languages are like old furni- 
ture, which is never perfectly suited to the present taste, but 
retains something of the fashion of the times when it was made. 
Thus, though all men of knowledge believe, that the succes- 
sion of day and night is owing to the rotation of the earth round 
its axis, and not to any diurnal motion of the heavens; yet» we 
find ourselves under a necessity of speaking in the old style, of 
the sun’s rising and going down, and coming to the meridian. 
And this style is used, not only in conversing with the vulgar, 
but when men of knowledge converse with one another. And 
if we should suppose the vulgar to be at last so far enlightened 
as to have the same belief with the learned of the cause of day 
and night, the same style would still be used. yo Seeeriawce 
From this instance we may learn, that the language of man- 
kind may furnish good evidence of opinions which have been 
early and universally entertained, and that the forms contrived 
for expressing such opinions, may remain in use after the ‘opi- 
nions which gave rise to them have been greatly changed. 
Active verbs appear plainly to have been first contrived to 
express action. They are still in general applied to this pur- 
pose. And though we find many instances of the application 
of active verbs to things which we now believe not to be active, 
this ought to be ascribed to men’s having once had. the belief 
that those things are active, and perhaps, in some cases, to this, 
that forms of expression are commonly extended, in course of 
time, beyond their original mténtion, either from analogy, or 
because more proper forms for the purpose are not found in the 
language. vests 
Even the misapplication of this notion of action and active 
- power shows that there is such a notion in the human mind, and 
shows the necessity there is in philosophy of distinguishing the 
proper application of these words, from the vague and improper 
application of them, founded on common language, or on popu- 
lar prejudice. iWinnasns apigep te 
Another argument to show that all men havea notion or idea 
of active power is, that there are many operations of mind com- 
mon.-to all men who have reason, and necessary in the ordinary 
conduct of life, which imply a belief of active power in our- 
selves and in others. oupiiat 
» All our volitions and efforts to act, all our deliberations, our 
purposes and promises, imply a belief of active power in our- 
selves ; our counsels, exhortations, and commands, imply a bes 
lief of active power in those to whom they are addressed. 
If a man should make an effort to fly to the moon; if he 
should even deliberate about it, or resolve to do it, we should 
conclude him to be lunatic; and even Junacy would not account 


ty 


OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 17 


for his conduct, unless it made him believe the thing to be in 
his power. ; 

If a man promises to pay me asum of money to-morrow, with- | 
out believing that it will then be in his power, he is not an honest 
man; and, if I did not believe that it will then be in his power, 
Ishould have no dependence on his promise. 

All our power is, without doubt, derived from the Author of 
our being ; and as he gave it freely, he may take it away when 
he will. No man can he certain of the continuance of any of 
his powers of body or mind for a moment; and, therefore, in 
every promise, there is a condition understood ; to wit, if we 
live, if we retain that health of body and soundness of mind 
which is necessary to the performance ; and if nothing happen, 
in the providence of God, which puts it out of our power. The 
rudest savages are taught by nature to admit these conditions in 
all promises, whether they be expressed or not; and no man is 
charged with breach of promise, when he fails through the fail- 
ure of these conditions. 

It is evident, therefore, that without the belief of some active 
power, no honest man would make a promise, no wise man 
would trust toa promise ; and itis no less evident, that the be- 
lief of active power, in ourselves, or in others, implies an idea 
or notion of active power. ; 

The same reasoning may be applied to every instance wherein 
we give counsel to others, wherein we persuade or command. 
As long, therefore, as mankind are beings who can deliberate, 
and resolve, and will; as long as they can give counsel, and ex- 
hort, and command, they must believe the existence of active 
power in themselves, and in others, and therefore must have a 
notion or idea of active power. 

- It might further be observed, that power is the proper and 
immediate object of ambition, one of the most universal pas- 
sions of the human mind, and that which makes the greatest 
figure in the history of all ages. Whether Mr. Hume, in de- 
fence of his system, would maintain that there is no such pas- 
sion in mankind as ambition, or that ambition is nota vehement 
desire of power, or that men may have a vehement desire of 
power, without having any idea of power, I will not pretend to 
divine. rai 

I cannot help repeating my apology for insisting so long in the 
refutation of so great an absurdity. It is a capital doctrine ina 
late celebrated system of human nature, that we have no idea 
of power, not even in the Deity; that we are not able to disco- 
ver a single instance of it, either in body or spirit, either in su- 
perior or inferior natures; and that we deceive ourselves when 
We imagine that we are possessed of any idea of this kind. 

To support this important doctrine, and the outworks that are 
raised in its defence, a great part of the first volume of the 


18 ESSAY 1. 


Treatise of Human Nature isemployed. That system abounds 
with conclusions the most absurd that ever were advanced by 
any philosopher, deduced with great acuteness and ingenuity 
from principles commonly received by philosophers. To re- 
ject such conclusions as unworthy of a hearing, would be disre- 
spectful to the ingenious author ; and to refute them is difficult, 
and appears ridiculous. Pap eter OP Re? 
It is difficult, because we can hardly find principles to reason 
from, more evident than those we wish to prove ; and it appears 
ridiculous, because, as this author justly observes, next to the 
ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that of taking much pains 
to prove it. god ake bcs ea abd 
Protestants complain with justice of the hardship put upon 
them by Roman Catholics, in requiring them to prove that bread 
and wine is not flesh and blood. They have, however, submit 
ted to this hardship for the sake of truth. I think it is no less 
hard to be put to prove that men have an idea of power. ~~ 
What convinces myself that I have an idea of poweris, that 
Jam conscious that { know what I mean by that word ; and, while 
I have this consciousness, | disdain equally to hear arguments 
for or against my having such an idea. But if we would con- 
vince those who, being led away by prejudice, or by authority, 
deny that they have any such idea, we must condescend to use 
such arguments as the subject will afford, and such as we should 
use with a man who should deny that mankind have any idea of 
magnitude or of equality. yh? coe ae 
“The arguments I have adduced are taken from these five to- 
pics: Ist, That there are many things that we can affirm or deny 
concerning power, with understanding. 2dly, That there are, 
in all languages, words signifying, not only power, but signifying 
many other things that imply power, such as, action and passion, 
cause and effect, energy, operation, and others. 3dly, That in 
the structure of all languages, there is an active and passive form 
in verbs and participles, and a different construction adapted to 
these forms, of which diversity no account can be given, but that 
it has been intended to distinguish action from passion. _4thly, 
That there are many operations of the human mind familiar to 
every man come to the use of reason, and necessary in the ordi- 
nary conduct of life, which imply a conviction of some degree 
of power in ourselves and in others. 5thly, That the desire of 
power is one of the strongest passions of human nature. 


19 


CHAPTER Iii. 
_ OF MR. LOCKE’S ACCOUNT OF OUR IDEA OF POWER. 


' THIS author, having refuted the Cartesian doctrine of innate 

ideas, took up, perhaps too rashly, an opinion that all our simple 
ideas are got, either by sensation, or by reflection; thatis, by 
our external senses, or by consciousness of the operations of our 
own minds. 

Through the whole of his Essay, he shows a fatherly affection 
to this opinion ; and often strains very hard to reduce our simple 
ideas to one of those sources, or both. Of this, several instances 
might be given, in his account of our idea of substance, of 
duration, of personal identity. Omitting these, as foreign to the 
present subject, I shall only take notice of the account he gives 
of our idea of power. 

The sum of it is, that observing, by our senses, various changes 
in objects, we collect a possibility in one object to be changed, 
and in another a possibility of making that change, and so come 
by that idea which we call power. 

Thus we say the fire has a power to melt gold, and gold 
has power to be melted; the first he calls active, the second 
assive power. cya 

He thinks, however, that we have the most distinct notion of 
active power, by attending to the power which we ourselves ex- 
ert, in giving motion to our bodies when at rest, -or in directing 
our thoughts to this or the other object as we will. And this way 
of forming the idea of power, he attributes to reflection, as he 
refers the former to sensation. ; : 

On this account of the origin of our idea of power, I would 
beg leave to make two remarks, with the respect that is most 
justly due to so greata philosopher, and so good a man. Hi 

_ 1st, Whereas he distinguishes power into active and passive, I 
conceive passive power is no power atall. He means by it, the 
possibility of being changed. To call this power, seems to be a 
misapplication of the word. I do not remember to haye met 
with the phrase passive power in any other good author. Mr. 
Locke seems to have been unlucky in inventing it; and it de- 
serves not to be retained in our language. ¢ 

Perhaps he was unwarily led into it,as an opposite to active 
power. But I conceive we call certain powers active, to distin- 
guish them from other powers that are called speculative. As all 


_ mankind distinguish action from speculation, it is very proper to 


distinguish the powers by which those different operations are 
performed, into active and speculative. Mr. Locke indeed 
acknowledges, that active power is more properly called power : 


1% 


. 


20: ESSAY I. 


but Isee no propriety at all in passive power; it is a powerless” 
power, and a contradiction in terms. ; 
Qdly, I would observe, that Mr. Locke seems to have imposed 
upon himself, in attempting to reconcile this account of the idea 
,of power to his favourite doctrine, that all our simple ideas are 
ideas of sensation, or of reflection. Penhy? 
There are two steps, according to his account, which the mind 
takes, in forming this idea of power; 1st, it observes changes in 
things; and, 2dly, from these changes, it infers a cause of them, 
and a power to produce them. Bi) oh ek 
If both these steps are operations of the external senses, or of 
consciousness, then the idea of power may be called an idea of 
sensation, or of reflection. But, if either of those steps require 
the co-operation of other powers of the mind, it will follow, that 
the idea of power cannot be got by sensation, nor by reflection, 
nor by both together. Let us, therefore, consider each of these 
steps by itself. 
ist, We observe various changes in things. And Mr. Locke 
takes it for granted, that changes in external things are observed 
by our senses, and that changes in our thoughts are observed by 
consciousness. 
I grant that it may be said, that changes in things are observed 


’_ by our senses, when we do not mean to exclude every other facul- 


ty fromasharein this operation. And it would be ridiculous to cen- 
sure the phrase, when it is so used in popular discourse. But itis 
necessary to Mr. Locke’s purpose, that changes in external things 
should be observed by the senses alone, excluding every other fa- 
culty ; because every faculty that is necessary in order to observe 
the change, will claim a share in the origin of the idea of power. 
Now it is evident that memory is no less necessary than the 
senses, in order to our observing changes tn external things ; and 
therefore, the idea of power, derived from the changes observed, 
may as justly be ascribed to memory as to the senses. el ae 
Every change supposes two states of the thing changed. Both 
these states may be past ; one of them at least must be past ; and 
one only can be present. By our senses we may observe the pre- 
sent state of the thing; but memory must supply us with the 
past ; and, unless we remember the past state, we can perceive 
no change. Pays 
The same observation may be applied to consciousness. The 
truth, therefore, is, that, by the senses alone, without 1 emo- 
ry, or by consciousness alone, without memory,no change can 
be observed. Every idea, therefore, that is derived from ob- 
serving changes in things, must have its origin, partly from 
memory, and not from the senses alone, nor from consciousness 
alone, nor from both together. 
The second step made by the mind in forming this idea of 


MR. HUME’S OPINION QF POWER. o Dae ait 


power is this: from the changes observed we collect a cause 
of those changes and a power to produce them. 
_ Here one might ask Mr. Locke, whether it is by our senses 
that we draw this conclusion, or is it by consciousness? Is 
reasoning the province of the senses, or is it the. province 
of consciousness? If the senses can draw one conclusion from 
premisses, they may draw five hundred, and demonstrate the 
whole elements of Euclid. ; 

Thus, I think it appears, that the account which Mr. Locke 
himself gives of the origin of our idea of power, cannot be 
reconciled to his favourite doctrine, that all our simple ideas 
have their origin from sensation or reflection; and that, in 
attempting to derive the idea of power from these two sources 
only, he unawares brings in our memory, and our reasoning. 
power, for a share in its origin. 


CHAPTER IV. 
OF MR. HUME’S OPINION OF THE IDEA OF POWER. 


THIS very ingenious author adopts the principle of Mr. Locke 
before mentioned, that all our simple ideas are derived either 
from sensation or reflection. This he seems to understand even 
in a stricter sense than Mr. Locke did. For he will have all our 
simple ideas to be copies of preceding impressions, either of our 
external senses or of consciousness. “ After the most accurate 
examination,”’ says he, “of which! am capable, I venture to 
affirm, that the rule here holds without any exception, and that 
every simple idea has a simple impression which resembles it, and 
every simple impression a correspondent idea. Every one may 
satisfy himself in this point, by running overas many as he pleases.” 

I observe here, by the way, that this conclusion is formed by 
the author rashly and unphilosophicaily. For it is a conclusion 


that admits of no proof, but by induction ; and it is upon this. 


ground that he himself founds it. The induction cannot be per- 
fect tillevery simple idea that can enter into the human mind be 
examined, and be shown to be copied from a resembling impres- 
sion of sense or of consciousness. No man can pretend to have 
made this examination of all our simple ideas without exception ; 
and, therefore, no man can, consiStently with the rules of philo- 
sophizing, assure us, that this conclusion holds without any ex- 
ception. i 

The author professes, in his title page, to introduce into mo- 
ral subjects the experimental method of reasoning. This wasa 
very laudable attempt; but he ought to have known, that it is a 
rule in the experimental method of reasoning, that conclusions, 

VOL. III. 4 


eee 


Be ESSAY 1, 


established by induction ought never to exclude exceptions, if 
any such should afterward appear from observation or experi- 
ment. Sir Isaac Newton, speaking of such conclusions, says, 
“Et si quando in experiundo postea, reperiatur aliquid, quod a 
parte contraria faciat ; tum demum, non sine istis exceptionibus 
affirmetur conclusio opportebit.” ‘‘ But,” says our author, “I 
will venture to affirm, that the rule here holds without any ex- 
ception.” aie 

Accordingly, throughout the whole treatise, this general rule 
is considered as of suflicient authority, in itself, to exclude, even 
from a hearing, every thing that appears to be an exception to 
it.. This is contrary to the fundamental principles of the experi- 
mental method of reasoning, and therefore may be called rash 
and unphilosophical. 12 

Having thus established this general principle, the author 
does great execution by it among our ideas. He finds, that we 
have no idea of substance, material or spiritual ; that body and 
mind are only certain trains of related impressions and ideas ; 
that we have no idea of space or duration, and no idea of power, 
active or intellective. é 

Mr. Locke used his principle of sensation and reflection with 
greater moderation and mercy. Being unwilling to thrust the 
ideas we have mentioned into the limbo of non-existence, he 
stretches sensation and reflection to the very utmost, in order 
to receive these ideas within the pale ; and draws them into it, 
as it were by violence. Se 

But this author, instead of showing them any favour, seems 
fond to get rid of them. ‘ 

Of the ideas mentioned, it is only that of power, that concerns 
our present subject. And with regard to this, the author boldly 
affirms, ‘‘ That we never have any idea of power ; that we de- 
ceive ourselves when we imagine we are possessed of any idea 
of this kind.” . Y 

He begins with observing, “That the terms efficacy, agency, 
power, force, energy, are all nearly synonymous ; and therefore 
it is an absurdity to employ any of them in defining the rest. 
By this observation,” ‘says he, “‘ we reject at once all the vulgar 
definitions which philosophers have given of power, and effi- 
cacy.” 

Saeely this author was not ignorant, that there are many things 
of which we have a clear anddistinct conception, which are so 
simple in their nature, that they cannot be defined any other 
way than by synonymous words. !tis true that this is nota 
logical definition, but that there is, as he afliirms, an absurdity 
in using it, when no better can be had, I cannot perceive. 

He might here have applied to power, and efficacy what he 
says, in another place, of pride and humility. “ The passions of 
pride and humility,” he says, “being simple and uniform im- 


A 


MR. HUME’S OPINION OF POWER. Qs 


pressions, it is impossible we can ever give a just definition of 
them. As the words are of general use, and the things they 
represent the most common of any, every one, of himself, will 
be able to form a just notion of them without danger of mistake.’ 

He mentions Mr. Locke’s account of the idea of power, that, 
observing various changes in things, we conclude, that there 
must be somewhere a power capable of producing them, and 
so arrive at last, by this reasoning, at the idea of power and 
efficacy. 

‘* But,” says he, “‘ to be satisfied that this explication is more 
popular than philosophical, we need but reflect on two very 
obvious principles ; 1st, that reason alone can never give rise to 
any original idea ; and 2dly, that reason, as distinguished from 


experience, can never make us conclude, that a cause, or’ 


productive quality, is absolutely requisite to every beginning of 
existence.” 

Before we consider the two principles which our author op- 
poses to the popular opinion of Mr. Locke, I observe, 

Ist, That there are some popular opinions, which, on that 
very account, deserve more regard from philosophers, than this 
author is willing to bestow. 

That things cannot begin to exist, nor undergo any change, 
without a cause that has power to produce that change, is indeed. 
so popular an opinion, that, I believe, this author is the first of 
mankind that ever called it in question. _It is so popular, that 
there is not a man of common prudence who does not act from 
this opinion, and rely upon it every day of his life. And any 
man who should conduct himself by the contrary opinion, would 
soon be confined as insane, and continue in that state, till a suf- 
ficient cause was found for his enlargement. ; 

‘Such a popular opinion as this, stands upon a higher authority 
than that of philosophy; and philosophy must strike sail to it, 
if she would not render herself contemptible to every man of 
common understanding. 


* |For though, in matters of deep speculation, the multitude — 


must be guided by philosophers, yet, in things that are within 
the reach of every man’s understanding, and upon which the 
whole conduct of human life turns, the philosopher must follow 
the multitude, or make himself perfectly ridiculous. 

2ndly, I observe, that whether this popular opinion be true 
or false, it follows, from men’s having this opinion, that they 
have an idea of power. A false opinion about power, no less 
than a true, implies an idea of power; for how can men have 
pie eyanan, true or false, about a thing of which they have ne 
idea ! : 

The 1st, of the very obvious principles which the author op- 
poses to Mr. Locke’s account of the idea of power, is, that 
reason alone can never give rise to any original idea. 


Qi, ESSAY 1, 


This appears to me so far from being a very obvious princi- 
ple, that the contrary is very obvious. bworstes df 

Is it not our reasoning faculty that gives rise to the idea of 
reasoning itself? As our idea of sight takes its rise from our 
being endowed with that faculty, so does our idea of reasoning. 
Do not the ideas of demonstration, of probability, our ideas of 
a syllogism, of major, minor, and conclusion, of an enthymeme, 
dilemma, sorites, and all the various modes of reasoning, take 
their rise from the faculty of reason? Or is it possible, that a 
being, not endowed with the faculty of reasoning, should have 
these ideas? This principle, therefore, is so far from being 
obviously true, that it appears to be obviously false. ii 

The 2nd obvious principle is, that reason, as distinguished 
from experience, can never make us conclude, that a cause, or 
productive quality, is absolutely requisite to every beginning of 
existence. Nf Conan 19" 

In some Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, I had oc- 
casion to treat of this principle, that every change in nature must 
have a cause ; and, to prevent repetition, I beg leave to refer 
the reader to what is said upon this subject, Essay vi. chap. 6. 
I endeavoured to show, that it is a first principle, evident to all 
men come to years of understanding. Besides its having been 
universally received, without the least doubt, from the beginning 
of the world, it has this sure mark of a first principle, that the 
belief of it is absolutely necessary in the ordinary affairs of life, 
and, without it, no man could act with common prudence, or 
avoid the imputation of insanity. Yet a philosopher, who acted 
upon the firm belief of it every day of his life, thinks fit, in his 
closet, to call it in question. 

He insinuates here, that we may know it from experience. 
I endeavoured to show, that we do not learn it from experience, 
for two reasons, RN tit. 

tst, Because it isa necessary truth, and has always been recei- 
ved as a necessary truth. Experience gives no mformation of 
what is necessary, or of what must be. wis 

We may know from experience, what is, or what was, and from 
that may probably conclude what shall be in like circumstances ; 
but, with regard to what must necessarily be, experience is 
perfectly silent. bs eda 

Thus we know, by unvaried experience, from the beginning 
of the world, that the sun, and stars rise in the east and set in the 
west. Butno man believes, that it could not possibly have been 
otherwise, or that it did not depend upon the will and power of 
him who made the world, whether the earth should revolve to 
the east or to the west. wt 

In like manner, if we had experience, ever so constant, that 
every change in nature we have observed, actually had a cause, 
this might afford ground to believe, that, for the future, it sha}! 


| 


: _ MB. HUME’S OPINION OF POWER, 25 


be so; but no ground at all to believe that it must be so, and 
cannot be otherwise. a oe 

Another reason to show that this principle is not learned from 
experience, is, that experience does not show us a cause of one 
in a hundred of those changes which we observe, and therefore 
can never teach us that there must be a cause ofall. 

Of all the paradoxes this author has advanced, there is not one 
more shocking to the human understanding than this, that things 
may begin to exist without a cause. This would put an end to 
all speculation, as well as to all the business of life. The em- 
ployment of speculative men, since the beginning of the world, 
has been to investigate the causes of things. What pity is it, 
they never thought of putting the previous question, whether 
things have a cause or not? This question has at last been 
started ; and what is there so ridiculous as not to be maintained 
by some philosopher ? 

Enough has been said upon it, and more, I think, than it de- 
serves. But, being about to treat of the active powers of the 
human mind, ! thought it improper to take no notice of what has 
been said by so celebrated a philosopher, to show, that there #s 
not, in the human mind, any idea of power. 


CHAPTER V. 


WHETHER BEINGS THAT HAVE NO WILL NOR UNDERSTANDING 
' MAY HAVE ACTIVE POWER. 


THAT active power is an attribute, which cannot exist but in 
some being possessed of that power, and the subject of that 
attribute, | take for granted as a self-evident truth. Whether 
there can be active power in a subject which has no thought, nor 
understanding, no will, is not so evident. 

The ambiguity of the words power, cause, ageni, and of all 
the words related to these, tends to perplex this question. The 
weakness of human understanding, which gives us only an indi- 
rect and relative conception of power, contributes to darken our 
reasoning, and should make us cautious and modest in our 
determinations. : 

We can derive little light in this matter from the events 
which we observe in the course of nature. We perceive chan- 
ges innumerable in things without us. We know that those 
changes must be produced by the active power of some agent ; 
but we neither perceive the agent nor the power, but the change 
only. Whether the things be active, or merely passive, is not 
easily discovered. And though it may be an object of curiosity 
to the speculative few, it does not greatly concern the many. 


26 ESSAY I. 


To know the event and the circumstances that attended it, 
and to know in what circumstances like events may be expected, 
may be of consequence in the conduct of life; but to know the 
real efficient, whether it be matter or mind, whether of a supe- 
rior or inferior order, concerns us little. 

Thus it is with regard to all the effects we ascribe to nature. 
' Nature is the name we give to the efficient cause of innumera- 
ble effects which fall daily under our observation. But if it be 
asked what riature is ? Whether the first universal cause, or a 
subordinate one, whether one or many, whether intelligent or 
unintelligent ? Upon these points we find various conjectures 
and theories, but no solid ground upon which we canrest. And 
I apprehend the wisest men are they who are sensible that they 
know nothing of the matter. Wee teh 

From the course of events in the natural world, we have 
sufficient reason to conclude the existence of an eternal intelli- 
gent First Cause. But whether he acts immediately in the pro- 
duction of those events, or by subordinate intelligent agents, or 
by instruments that are unintelligent, and what the number, the 
nature, and the different offices of those agents or instruments 
may be; these I apprehend to be mysteries placed beyond the 
limits of human knowledge. We see an established order in the 
succession of natural events, but we see not the bond that con- 
nects them together. vit 

Since we derive so little light, with regard to efficient causes 
and their active power, from attention to the natural world, let 
us next attend to the moral, I mean, to human actions and con- 
duct. . ; 

Mr. Locke observes very justly, “‘ That, from the observation 
of the operation of bodies by our senses, we have but a very 
imperfect obscure idea of active power, since they afford us not 
any idea in themselves of the power to begin any action, either 


of motion or thought.” He adds, “ That we find in ourselves a. 


power to begin or forbear, continue or end several actions of 
our minds and motions of our bodies, barely by a thought or 
preference of the mind, ordering, or, as it were, commanding the 
doing or not doing such a particular action. This power which 
the mind has thus to order the consideration of any idea, or the 
forbearing to consider it, or to prefer the motion of any part of 
the body to its rest, and vice versa, in any particular instance, is 
that which we call the will. The actual exercise of that power, 
by directing any particular action, or its forbearance, is that 
which we call volition, or willing.” ; 

According to Mr. Locke, therefore, the only clear notion or 
idea we have of active power, is taken from the power which we 
find in ourselves to give certain motions to our bodies, or a 
certain direction to our thoughts ; and this power in ourselves 
can be brought into action only by willing or volition. 


MR. HUMB’S OPINION OF POWER. 27 

From this, I think, it follows, that, if we had not will,and+that 
degree of understanding which will necessarily implies, we could 
exert no active power, and consequently could have none : for 
power that cannot be exerted is no power. _ It follows also, that 
the active power, of which only we can have any distinct con- 
ception, can be only in beings that have understanding and will. 

Power to produce any effect implies power not to produce it. 
We can conceive no way in which power may be determined to 
ene of these rather than the other, in a being that has no will. 

Whatever is the effect of active power must be something 
that is contingent. Contingent existence is that which depended 
upon the power and will of its cause. Opposed to this, is 
necessary existence, which we ascribe to the Supreme Being, 
because his existence is not owing to the power of any being. 
The same distinction there is between contingent and necessary 
truth. 

That the planets of our system go round the sun from west to 
east, isa contingent truth ; because it depended upon the power 
and will of him who made the planetary system, and gave motion 
toit. That a circle and a right line can cut one another only 
in two points, is a truth which depends upon no power nor will, 
and therefore is called necessary and immutable. Contingency, 
therefore, has a relation to active power, as all active poweris 
exerted in contingent events ; and as such events can have no 
existence, but by the exertion of active power. 

When I observe a plant growing from its seed to maturity, I 
know that there must be a cause that has power to produce this 
effect. But I see neither the cause nor the manner of its opera- 
tion. 

But in certain motions of my body, and directions of my 
thought, I know, not only that there must be a cause that has 
power to produce these effects, but that I am that cause ; and I 
am conscious of what I do in order to the production of them. _ 

From the consciousness of our own activity, seems to be 
derived, not only the clearest, but the only conception we can 
form of activity, or the exertion of active power. 

Aslam unable to form a notion of any intellectual power 
different in kind from those I possess, the same holds with res- 
pect to active power. If all men had been blind, we should 
have had no conception of the power of seeing, nor any name 
for itin language. Ifman had not the powers of abstraction and 
reasoning, we could not have had any conception of these 
operations. In hke manner, if he had not some degree of active 
power, and if he were not conscious of the exertion of it in his 
voluntary actions, it is probable he could have no conception of 
activity, or of active power. 

A train.of events following one another ever so regularly, 
could never lead us to the notion of a cause, if we had not, from 


Phe 


28 ESSAY Ie 


our constitution, a conviction of the necessity of a cause to every 
event. 

And of the manner in which a cause may exert its active 
power, we can have no conception but from consciousness of 
the manner in which our own active power is exerted. _ 

With regard to the operations of nature, it is sufficient for us 
to know, that, whatever the agents may be, whatever the manner 
of their operation, or the extent of their power, they depend 
upon the First Cause, and are under his controul; and this 
indeed is all that we know ; beyond this we are left in darkness. 
But, in what regards human actions, we have a more immediate 
concern. ' 

It is of the highest importance to us as moral and accountable 
creatures, to know what actions are in our own power, because it 
is for these only that we can be accountable to our Maker, or to 
our fellow-men in society ; by these only we can merit praise or 
blame ; in these only all our prudence, wisdom, and virtue must 
be employed; and therefore, with regard to them, the wise 
Author of nature has not left us in the dark. : 

Every man is led by nature to attribute to himself the free 
determinations of his own will, and to believe those events to 
be in his power which depend upon his will. On the other hand, 
it is self-evident, that nothing is in our power that is not subject 
to our will. , 

We grow from childhood to manhood, we digest our food, our 
blood circulates, our heart and arteries beat, we are sometimes 
sick and sometimes in health ; all these things must be done by 
the power of some agent; but they are not done by our power. 
How do we know this? Because they are not subject to our 
will. This is the infallible criterion by which we distinguish 
what is our doing from what is not; what is in our power from 
what is not. nS 

Human power, therefore, can only be exerted by will; and 
we are unable to conceive any active power to be exerted 
without will. Every man knows infallibly that what is done by 
his conscious will and intention, is to be imputed to him as the 
agent or cause; and that whatever is done without his will and , 
intention cannot be imputed to him with truth. 

We judge of the actions and conduct of other men by the 
same rale as we judge of our own. In morals it is self-evident 
that no man can be the object either of approbation or of blame 
for what he did not. But how shall we know whether it is his 
doing or not? If the action depended upon his will, and if he 
intended and willed it, it is his action in the judgment of all 
mankind. But if it was done without his knowledge, or without 
his will and intention, it is as certain that he did it not, and that 
it ought not to be imputed to him as the agent. 

When there is any doubt to whom a particular action ought 


@F BEINGS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 29 


to be imputed, the doubt arises only from our ignorance of 
facts ; when the facts relating to it are known, no man of under- 
standing has any doubt to whom the action ought to be imputed. 
_ The general rules of imputation are self-evident. They 
have been the same in all ages, and among all civilized nations. 
No man blames another for being black or fair, for having a 
fever or the falling sickness ; because these things are believed 
not to be in his power; and they are believed not to be in his 
power, because they depend not upon his will. We can never 
conceive that a man’s duty goes beyond his power, or that his 
power goes beyond what depends upon his will. 

Reason leads us to ascribe unlimited power to the Supreme 
Being. But what do we mean by unlimited power? It is power 
to do whatsoever he wills. ‘To suppose him to do what he 
does not will to do, is absurd. } 

The only distinct conception I can form of active power is, 
that itis an attribute in a being by which he can do certain things 
if he wills. This, after all, is only a relative conception. It 
is relative to the effect, and to the will of producing it. Take 
away these, and the conception vanishes. ‘They are the handles 
by which the mind takes hold of it. When they are taken 
away, our hold is gone. The same is the case with regard to 
other relative conceptions. Thus velocity is a real state of a 
body, about which philosophers reason with the force of demon- 
stration; but our conception of it is relative to space and time. 
What is velocity in a body? It is a state in which it passes 
through a certain space in a certain time. Space and time are 
very different from velocity ; but we cannot conceive it but by 
its relation to them. The effect produced, and the will to 
produce it, are things different from active power, but we can 
have no conception of it, but by its relation to them. 

Whether the conception of an efficient cause, and of real 
activity, could ever have entered into the mind of man, if we 
had not had the experience of activity in ourselves, [| am not 
able to determine with certainty. The origin of many of our 
conceptions, and even of many of our judgments, is not so easily 
traced as philosophers have generally conceived. No man can 
recollect the time when he first got the conception of an efficient 
cause, or the time when he first got the belief that an efficient 
cause is necessary to every change in nature. The conception 
of an efficient cause may very probably be derived from the 
experience we have had in very early life of our own power to 
produce certain effects. But the belief, that no event can 
happen without an eflicient cause, cannot be derived from 
experience. We may learn from experience what is, or what 
was, but no experience can teach us what necessarily must be. 

In like manner, we probably derive the conception of pain 

VOL. III. 5 ‘ 


30 ESSAY I. 


from the experience we have had of it in ourselves; but our 


belief that pain can only exist in a being that has life, cannot - 


be got by experience, because it is a necessary truth; and no 
necessary truth can have its attestation from experience. 

If it be so that the conception of an efficient cause enters 
into the mind, only from the early conviction we have that we 
are the efficients of our own voluntary actions, which I think is 
most probable, the notion of efficiency will be reduced to this, 
‘that it is a relation between the cause and the effect, similar to 
that which is between us and our voluntary actions. This is 
surely the most distinct notion, and, I think, the only notion we 
ean form of real efficiency. 

Now it is evident, that, to constitute the relation between me 
and my action, my conception of the action, and will to do it, 
are essential. For what | never conceived, nor willed, I never 
did. 

If any man, therefore, affirms, that a being may be the efficient 
eause of an action, and have power to produce it, which that 
being can neither conceive nor will, he speaks a language which 
1 do not understand. If he hasa meaning, his notion of power 
and efficiency must be essentially different from mine; and, 
until he conveys his notion of efficiency to my understanding, I 
can no more assent to his opinion, than if he should affirm, that 
a being without life may feel pain. ' 

It seems therefore to me most probable, that such beings only 
as have some degree of understanding and will, can possess 
active power: and that inanimate beings must be merely passive 
and have no real activity. Nothing we perceive without us 
affords any good ground for ascribing active power to any inani- 
mate being ; and every thing we can discover in our own con+ 
stitution, leads us to think, that active power cannot be exerted 
without will and intelligence. es 


CHAPTER VI. 


OF THE EFFICIENT CAUSES OF THE PHENOMENA OF NATURE. 


IF active power, in its proper meaning, requires a subject 
endowed with will and intelligence, what shall we say of those 
active powers which philosophers teach us to ascribe to matter; 
the powers of corpuscular attraction, magnetism, electricity, 
gravitation, and others? Is it not universally allowed, that 
heavy bodies descend to the earth by:the power of gravity ; 
that, by the same power, the moon, and all the planets and 


a 


Z 


OF THE PHENOMENA OF NATURE. 31 
comets, are retained in their orbits? Have the most eminent 
natural philosophers been imposing upon us, and giving us words 
instead of real causes? 

In answer to this, I apprehend, that the principles ef natural 
philosophy, have, in modern times, been built upon a foundation 
that cannot be shaken, and that they can be called in question 
only by those who do not understand the evidence on which 
they stand. But the ambiguity of the words cause, agency, 
active power, and the other words related to these, has led many 
to understand them, when used in natural philosophy, in a 
wrong sense, and in a sense which is neither necessary for 
establishing the true principles of natural philosophy, nor was 
ever meant by the most enlightened in that science. 

To be convinced of this, we may observe, that those very 
philosophers who attribute to matter the power of gravitation, 
and other active powers, teach us, at the same time, that matter 
is a substance altogether inert, and merely passive ; that gravi- 
tation, and the other attractive or repulsive powers which they * 
ascribe to it, are not inherent in its nature, but impressed upon 
it by some external cause, which they do not pretend to know, 
or to explain. Now, when we find wise men ascribing action 
and active power to a substance which they expressly teach us 
to consider as merely passive and acted upon by some unknown 
cause, we must conclude, that the action and active power 
ascribed to it are not to be understood strictly, but in some 
popular sense. 

It ought likewise to be observed, that although philosophers, 
for the sake of being understood, must speak the language of 
the yulgar, as when they say, the sun rises and sets, and goes 
through all the signs of the zodiac, yet they often think differently 
from the vulgar. Let us hear what the greatest of natural 
philosophers says, in the 8th definition prefixed to his Principia: 
“‘Voces autem attractionis, impulsus, vel propensionis cujus- 
cunque in centrum, indifferenter et pro se mutuo promiscue 
usurpo ; has voces non physice sed mathematicé considerando, 
Unde caveat lector, ne per hujus modi voces cogitet me speciem 
vel modum actionis, causamve aut rationem physicam, ali cubi 
definire ; vel centris, qu sunt puncta mathematica, vires vere 
et physice tribuere, si forte centra trahere, aut vires centrorum 
esse, dixero.”’ 

In all languages, action is attributed to many things which all 
men of common understanding believe to be merely passive ; 
thus we say, the wind blows, the rivers flow, the sea rages, the 
fire burns, bodies move, and impel other bodies. 

Every object which undergoes any change, must be either 
active or passive in that change. This is self-evident to al] 
men from the first dawn of reason; and therefore the change 
38 always expressed in language, either by an active or a passive 


32 ESSAY I. 


verb. Nor do I know any verb, expressive of a change, which 
does not imply either action or passion. The thing either 
changes, or it is changed. _But it is remarkable in language, 
that when an external cause of the change is not obvious, the 
change is always imputed to the thing changed, as if it were 
animated, and had active power to produce the change in itself. 
So we say, the moon changes, the suu rises and goes down. 

Thus active verbs are very often applied, and active power 
imputed to things, which a little advance in knowledge and 
experience teaches us to be merely passive. This property, 
common to all languages, I endeavoured to account for in the 
second chapter of this Essay, to which the reader is referred. 

A like irregularity may be observed in the use of the word 
signifying cause, in all languages, and of the words related to it. 

Our knowledge of causes is very scanty in the most advanced 
state of society, much more is it so in that early period in which 

, language is formed. A strong desire to know the causes of 

\ things, is common to all men in every state ; but the experience 
of all ages shows, that this keen appetite, rather than go empty, 
will feed upon the husks of real knowledge where the fruit 
cannot be found. 

While we are very much in the dark with regard to the real 

‘ agents or causes which produce the phenomena of nature, and 
have, at the same time, an avidity, to know them, ingenious men 
frame conjectures, which those of weaker understanding take 
for truth. The fare is coarse, but appetite makes it go down. 

Thus, in a very ancient system, love and strife were made 
the causes of things. Plato made the causes of things to be 
matter, ideas, and an efficient architect. . Aristotle, matter, 
form, and privation. Des Cartes thought matter, and a certain 
quantity of motion, given it by the Almighty at first, to be all 
that is necessary to make the material world. Leibnitz con- 
ceived the whole universe, even the material part of it, to be 
made up of monades, each of which is active and intelligent, 
and produces in itself, by its own active power, all the changes 
it undergoes from the beginning of its, existence to eternity. 

In common language we give the name of a cause toa reason, 
a motive, an end, to any circumstance which is connected with 
the effect, and goes before it. 

Aristotle, and the schoolmen after him, distinguished four 
kinds of causes, the efficient, the material, the formal, and the 
final This, like many of Aristotle’s distinctions, is only a 
distinction of the various meanings of an ambiguous word; for 
the efficient, the matter, the form, and the end, have nothing 
common in their nature, by which they may be accounted 
species of the same genus; but the Greek word which we 
translate eause, had these four different meanings in Aristotle’s 
days, and-we have added other meanings. We do not indeed 


‘ 


@P PHE PHENOMENA GF NATURE. 33 


wall the matter or the form ofa thing its cause ; but we have final 
causes, instrumental causes, occasional causes, and I know not 
how many others. 

Thus the word cause has been so hackneyed, and made to 
have so many different meanings in the writings of philosophers, 
and in the discourse of the vulgar, that its original and proper 
meaning is lost in the crowd. 

With regard to the phenomena of nature, the important end 
of knowing their causes, besides gratifying our curiosity, is, that 
we may know when to expect them, or how to bring them about. 
This is very often of real importance in life ; and this purpose 
is served, by knowing what, by the course of nature, goes 
before them and is connected with them; and this, therefore, 
we call the cause of such a phenomenon. 

If a magnet be brought near to a mariner’s compass, the 
needle, which was before at rest, immediately begins to move, 
and bends its course toward the magnet, or perhaps the contrary 
way. If an unlearned sailor is asked the cause of this motion 
of the needle, he is at no loss foran answer. He tells you it is 
- the magnet; and the proof is clear; for, remove the magnet, 
and the effect ceases ; bring it near, and the effect is again pro- 
duced. It is, therefore, evident to sense, that the magnet is 
‘the cause of this effect. 

A Cartesian philosopher enters deeper into the cause of this 
phenomenon. He observes, that the magnet does not touch the 
needle, and therefore can give it no impulse. He pities the 
ignorance of the sailor. The effect is produced, says he, by 
magnetic effluvia, or subtile matter, which passes from the 
magnet to the needle, and forces it from its place. He can even 
show you, in a figure, where these magnetic effluvia issue from 
the magnet, what round they take, and what way they return 
home again. And thus he thinks he comprehends perfectly 
how, and by what cause the motion of the needle is produced. 

A Newtonian philosopher inquires what proof can be offered 
for the existence of magnetic effluvia, and can find none. He 
therefore holds it as a fiction, a hypothesis; and he has learned 
that hypotheses ought to have no place in the philosophy of 
nature. He confesses his ignorance of the real cause of this 
motion, and thinks, that his business, as a philosopher, is only 
to find from experiment the laws by which it is regulated in all 
cases. 

These three persons differ much in their sentiments with 
regard to the real cause of this phenomenon ; and the man who 
knows most, is he who is seasible that he knows nothing of 
the matter. Yet all the three speak the same language, and 
acknowledge that the cause of this motion is the attractive or 
repulsive power of the magnet. ; 

What has been said of this, may be applied to every phenome- 


34 ESSAY 1. 


non that falls within the compass of natural philosophy. We 
deceive ourselves, if we conceive, that we can point out the 
real efficient cause of any one of them. 

The grandest discovery ever made in natural philosophy, 
was that of the law of gravitation, which opens such a view of 
our planetary system, that it looks like something divine. But 
the author of this discovery was perfectly aware, that he disco- 
vered no real cause, but only the law or rule, according to which 
the unknown cause operates. 

Natural philosophers, who think accurately, have a precise 
meaning to the terms they use in the science; and when they 
pretend to show the cause of any phenomenon of nature, they 
mean by the cause, a law of nature of which that phenomenon 
is a necessary consequence. 

The whole object of natural philosophy, as Newton expressly 
teaches, is reducible to these two heads ; first, by just induc- 
tion from experiment and observation, to discover the laws of na- 
ture ; and then to apply those laws to the solution of the phe- 
nomena of nature. ‘This was all that this great philosopher 
attempted, and all that he thought attainable. And this indeed 
he attained in a great measure, with regard to the motions of our 
planetary system, and with regard to the rays of light. 

But supposing that all the phenomena that fall within the 
reach of our senses, were accounted for from the general laws 
of nature, justly'deduced from experience; that is, supposing 
natural philosophy brought to its utmost perfection, it does not 
discover the efficient cause of any one phenomenon in nature. 

The laws of nature are the rules according to which the effects 
are produced; but there must be a cause which operates ac- 
cording to these rules. The rules of navigation never naviga- 
ted aship. The rules of architecture never built a house, 

Natural philosophers, by great attention to the course of na- 
ture, have discovered many of her laws, and have very happily 
applied them to account for many phenomena; but they have 
never discovered the efficient cause of any one phenomenon ; 
nor do those who have distinct notions of the principles of 
the science, make any such pretence. 

Upon the theatre of nature we see innumerable effects, which 
require an agent endowed with active power; but the agent is 
behind the scene. Whether it be the Supreme Cause alone, 
or a subordinate cause or causes ; and if subordinate causes be 
employed by the Almighty, what their nature, their number, 
and their different offices may be are things hid, for wise reasons 
without doubt, from the human eye. 

It is only in human actions, that may be imputed for praise or 
blame, that it is necessary for us to know who is the agent ; and 
in this, nature has given us all the light that is necessary for 


eur conduct. 


39 


CHAPTER VII. 


OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER: 


EVERY thing laudable and praiseworthy in man, must con- 
sist in the proper exercise of that power which is given him by 
his Maker. This is the talent which he is required to occupy, 
and of which he must give an account to him who committed it 
to his trust. 

To sonie persons more power is given than to others; and to 
the same person, more at one time, and less at another. Its 
existence, its extent, and its continuance depend solely upon the 
pleasure of the Almighty; but every man that is accountable 
must have more or less of it. For, to call a person to account, 
to approve, or disapprove of his conduct, who had no power to 
do good or ill, is absurd. No axiom of Euclid appears more 
evident than this. 

As power is a valuable gift, to underrate it is ingratitude to 
the giver ; to overrate it, begets pride and presumption, and leads 
to unsuccessful attempts. It is therefore, in every man, a point 
of wisdom to make a just estimate of his own power. Quid fer- 
re recusent, quid valeant humeri. ; 

We can only speak of the power of man in general ; and as 
our notion of power is relative to its effects, we can estimate its 
extent only by the effects which it is able to produce. 

It would be wrong to estimate the extent of human power by 
the effects which it has actually produced. For every nan had 
power to do many things which he did not, and not to do many 
things which he did; otherwise he could not be an object 
either of approbation, or of disapprobation, to any rational 
being. 

The effects of human power are either immediate, or they 
are more remote. 

The immediate effects, I think, are reducible to two heads. 
We can give certain motions to our own bodies; and we can 
give a certain direction to our own thoughts. 

Whatever we can do beyond this, must be done by one of 
these means, or both. 

We can produce no motion in any body in the universe, but 
by moving first our own body as an instrument. Nor can we 
produce thought in any other person, but by thought and motion 
in ourselves. 

Qur power to move our own body, is not only limited in its 
extent, but in its nature is subject to mechanical laws. It may 
be compared to a spring endowed with the power of contracting 
or expanding itself, but which cannot contract without drawing 


36 ESSAY I. 


equally at both ends, nor expand without pushing equally at both 
ends ; so that every action of the spring is always accompanied 
with an equal reaction in a contrary direction. 

We can conceive a man to have power to moye his whole 
body in any direction, without the aid of any other body, or a 
power to move one part of his body without the aid of any 
other part. But philosophy teaches us that man has no such 
power. 

If he carries his whole body in any direction with a certain 
quantity of motion, this he can do only by pushing the earth, or 
some other body, with an equal quantity of motion in the con- 
trary direction. If he but stretch out his arm in one direction, 
the rest of his body is pushed with an equal quantity of motion 
in the contrary direction. 

This is the case with regard to all animal and voluntary mo- 
tions, which come within the reach of our senses. ‘They are 
performed by the contraction of certain muscles ; and a muscle, 
when it is contracted, draws equally at both ends. As to the 
motions antecedent to the contraction of the muscle, and conse- 
quent upon the volition of the animal, we know nothing, and 
can say nothing about them. 

We know not even how those immediate effects of our power 
are produced by our willing them. We perceive not any ne- 
cessary connexion betwen the volition and exertion on our part, 
and the motion of our body that follows them. 

Anatomists inform us, that every voluntary motion of the 
body is performed by the contraction of certain muscles, and 
that the muscles are contracted by some influence derived from 
the nerves. But, without thinking in the least, either of muscles 
or nerves, we will only the external effect, and the internal ma- 
chinery, without our call, immediately produces that effect. 

This is one of the wonders of our frame, which we have rea- 
son to admire ; but to account for it, is beyond the reach of our 
understanding. 

That there is an established harmony between our willing 
certain motions of our bodies, and the operation of the nerves 
and muscles which produces those motions, is a fact known by 
experience. This volition is an act of the mind. But whether 
this act of the mind have any physical effect upon the nerves 
' and muscles, or whether it be only an occasion of their being 
acted upon by some other efficient, according to the established 
laws of nature, is hid from us. So dark is our conception of 
our own power when we trace it to its origin. 

We have good reason to believe, that matter had its origin 
from mind, as well asall its motions; but how, or in what man- 
ner it is moved by mind, we know as little as how it was cre- 
ated. . 

Jt is possible therefore, for any thing we know, that what 


wt 


2 


OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. Bt 


we call the immediate effects of our power, may not be so in 
the strictest sense. Between the will to produce the effect, and 
the production of it, there may be agents or instruments of 
which we are ignorant. 

This may leave some doubt, whether we be, in the strictest 
sense, the efficient cause of the voluntary motions of our own 
body. But it can produce no doubt with regard to the moral 
estimation of our actions. ; 

The man who knows that such an event depends upon his 
will, and who deliberately wills to produce it, is, in the strictest 
moral sense, the cause of the event; and it is justly imputed to 
him, whatever physical causes may have concurred in its pro- 
duction. 

Thus, he who maliciously intends to shoot his neighbour dead, 
and voluntarily does it, is undoubtedly the cause of his death, 
though he did no more to occasion it than to draw the trigger 
of the gun. He neither gave to the ball its velocity, nor to the 
powder its expansive force, nor to the flint and steel the power 
to strike fire; but he knew that what he did must be followed 
by the man’s death, and did it with that intention ; and therefore 
he is justly chargeable with the murder. 

Philosophers may therefore dispute innocently, whether we 
be the proper efficient causes of the voluntary motions of our 
own body; or whether we be only, as Malebranche thinks, the 
occasional causes. The determination of this question, if it can 
be determined, can have no effect on human conduct. 

The other branch of what is immediately in our power, is to 
give a certain direction to our own thoughis. This, as well as 
the first branch, is limited in various ways. Itis greater in some 
persons than in others, and in the same person is very different, 
according to the health of his body, and the state of his mind. 
But that men, when free from disease of body and of mind, 
have a considerable degree of power of this kind, and that it 
may be greatly increased by practice and habit, is sufficientiy 
evident from experience, and from the natural conviction of all 
mankind. 

Were we to examine minutely into the connexion between 
our volitions, and the direction of our thoughts which obeys 
these volitions; were we to consider how we are able to give 
attention to an object for a certain time, and turn our attention 
to another when we choose, we might perhaps find it difficult to 
determine, whether the mind itself: be the sole efficient cause of 
the voluntary changes in the direction of our thoughts, or whe- 
ther it requires the aid of other efficient causes. 

I see no good reason why the dispute about efficient and oc- 
casional causes, may not be applied to the power of directing 
our thoughts, as well as to the power of moving our bodies.» In 

- VOL. IIT. 6 


38 ESSAY Jd. 


both cases, I apprehend the dispute is endless, and if it could 
be brought to an issue, would be fruitless. 

Nothing appears more evident to our reason, than that there 
must be an efficient cause of every change that happens in na- 
ture. But when | attempt to comprehend the manner in which 
an efficient cause operates, either upon body or upon mind, 
there is a darkness which my faculties are not able to penetrate. 

However small the immediate effects of human power seem 
to be, its more remote effects are very considerable. 

In this respect, the power of man may be compared to the 
Nile, the Ganges, and other great rivers, which make a figure 
upon the globe of the earth, and traversing vast regions, bring 
sometimes great benefit, at other times great mischief, to 
many nations; yet, when we trace those rivers to their source, 
we find them to rise from inconsiderable fountains and rills. 

The command of a mighty prince, what is it, but the sound 
of his breath, modified by his organs of speech ! ? But it may 
have great consequences ; it may raise armies, equip fleets, and 
spread war and desolation over a great part of the earth. 

The meanest of mankind has considerable power to do good, 
and more to hurt himself and others. ' 

From this I think we may conclude, that although the dege- 
neracy of mankind be great, and justly to be lamented, yet 
men, in general, are more disposed to employ their power 
in doing good, than in doing burt to their fellow men. The 
last is much more in their power than the first; and, if they 
were as much disposed to it, human society could not subsist, 
and the species must soon perish from the earth. 

We may first consider the effects which may be eueecre by 


human power upon the material system. 


It is confined indeed to the planet which we inhabit ; we can- 
not remove to another; nor can we produce any change i in the 
annual or diurnal motions of our own. 

But, by human power, great changes may be made upon the 
face of the earth; and those treasures of metals and minerals 
that are stored up in its bowels, may be discovered and brought 
forth. . 

The Supreme Being, could, no doubt, have made the earth 
to supply the wants of man, without any cultivation by human 
Jabour. Many inferior animals, who neither plant, nor sow, nor 
spin, are provided for by the bounty of Heaven. But this is 
not the case with man. i 

He has active powers and ingenuity given him, by which he 
can do much {for supplying his wants; and his labour is made 
necessary for that purpose. 

His wants are more than those of any oni? animal that in- 
habits this globe ; and his resources are proportioned to them, 
and put within the sphere of his power. 


—————- 


_OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 39 


The earth is left by nature in such a state as to require culti- 
vation for the accommodation of man. 

It is capable of cultivation, in most places to such a degree, 
that, by human labour, it may afford subsistence to an hundred 
times the number of men it could in its natural state. 

Every tribe of men, in every climate, must labour for their 
subsistence and accommodation; and their supply is more or 
less comfortable, in proportion to the labour properly employed 
for that purpose. 

It is evidently the intention of nature, that man should be 
laborious, and that he should exert his powers of body and 
mind for his own, and forthe common good. And, by his power 
properly applied, he may make great improvement upon the 
fertility of the earth, and a great addition to his own accommo- 
dation and comfortable state. 

By clearing, tilling, and manuring the ground, by planting and 
sowing, by building cities and harbours, draining marshes and 
lakes, making rivers navigable, and joining them by canals, by 
manufacturing the rude materials which the earth, duly cultiva- 
ted, produces in abundance, by the mutual exchange of commo- 
dities and of labour, he may make the barren wilderness the 
habitation of rich and populous states. 

If we compare the city of Venice, the province of Holland, 
the empire of China, with those places of the earth which 
never felt the hand of industry, we may form some conception 
of the extent of human power upon the material system, in 
changing the face of the earth, and furnishing the accommoda- 
tions of human life. 

But, in order to produce those happy changes, man himself 


must be improved. 


His an:mal faculties are. sufficient for the preservation of the 
species ; they grow up of themselves, like the trees of the fo- 
rest, which require only the force of nature and the influences of 
heaven. 

His rational and moral faculties, like the earth itself, are rude 
and barren by nature, but capable of a high degree of culture: 
and this culture he must receive from parents, from instruct- 


ers, from those with whom he lives in society, joined with his 


own industry. 
If we consider the changes that may be produced by man up- 
en his own mind, and upon the minds of others, they appear to 


be great. 


Upon his own mind he may make great improvement, in ac- 
quiring the treasures of useful knowledge, the habits of skill in 
arts, the habits of wisdom, prudence, self-command, and every 
other virtue. It is the constitution of nature, that such quali- 
ties as exalt and dignify human nature are to be acquired by 


« 


40 ESSAY 1. 


proper exertions ; and, by a contrary conduct, such qualities 
as debase it below the condition of brutes. 

Even upon the minds of others, great effects may be produ- 
eed by means within the compass of human power; by means 
of good education, of proper instruction, of persuasion, of 
good example, and by the discipline of laws and government. 

That these have often had great and good effects on the 
civilization and improvement of individuals, and of nations, 
cannot be doubted. But what happy effects they might have, 
if applied universally with the skill and address that is within 
the reach of human wisdom and power, is not easily conceived, 
or to what pitch the happiness of human society, and the 
improvement of the species, might be carried. 

What a noble, what a divine employment of human power 
is here assigned us? How ought it to rouse the ambition of pa- 
rents, of instructers, of lawgivers, of magistrates, of every man 
in his station, to contribute his part toward the accomplishment 
ef so glorious an end? 

The power of man over his own and other minds, when we 
trace it to its origin, is involved in darkness, no less than his 
power to move his own and other bodies. 

How far we are properly efficient causes, how far occasional 
causes, | cannot pretend to determine. 


oF, We know that habit produces great changes in the mind ; 
oa but how it does so, we know not. We know that example has 
ae a powerful, and, in the early period of life, almost an irresisti- 
is ble effect ; but we know not how it produces this effect. . The 

communication of thought, seatiment and passion, from one 
J) .». mind to another, has something in it as mysterious as the com- 
fe APF chubication of motion from one body to another. 


4 


a ay 
the laws of nature which he has established. This ought to 


We perceive one event to follow another, according to es- 
tablished laws of nature, and we are accustomed to call the first 
the cause, and the last the effect, without knowing what is the 
bond that unites them. In order to produce a certain event, 
we use means which, by laws of nature, are connected with that 
eyent; and we call ourselves the cause of that event, though 
other efficient causes may have had the chief hand in its pro- 
duction. 

- Upon the whole, human power, in its existence, in its extent, 
and in its exertions, is entirely dependent upon God, and upon 


banish pride and arrogance from the most mighty of the sons 
of men. At the same time, that degree of power which we 
have received from the bounty of heaven, is one of the noblest 
gifts of God to man; of which we ought not to be insensible, 
that we may not be ungrateful, and that we may be excited to 
make the proper use of it. 


@F THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 4 


The’extent of human power is perfectly suited to the state of 
man, as a state of improvement and discipline. It is sufficient 
to animate us to the noblest exertions. By the proper exercise 
of this gift of God, human nature, in individuals and in socie- 
ties, may be exalted toa high degree of dignity and felicity, and 
the earth become a paradise. On the contrary, its perver- 
sion and abuse is the cause of most of the evils that afflict 


human life, 


: Piet, Ne 
we ; 


ESSAY II. 


OF THE WILL. 


CHAPTER I. 


OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 


EVERY man is conscious of a power to determine, in things 
which he conceives to depend upon his determination. To 
this power we give the name of will ; and, as it is usual, in the 
operations of the mind, to give the same name to the power 
and to the act of that power, the term will is often put to signify 
ihe act of determining, which more properly is called golition. 

Volition, therefore, signifies the act of willing and determi- 
ning ; and will is put inditferently to signify either the power of 
willing or the act. 

But the term will has very often, especially in the writings of 
philosophers,a more extensive meaning, which we must carefully 
distinguish from that which we have now given. 

In the general division of our faculties into understanding and 
will, our passions, appetites, and affections, are comprehended 
under the will; and so it is made to signify, not only our 
determination to act or not to act, but every motive and incite- 
ment to action. - 

_ It is this, probably, that has led some philosophers to represent 
desire, aversion, hope, fear, joy, sorrow ; all our appetites, pas- 
sions, and affections, as different modifications of the will; 
which, I think, tends to confound things which are very different 
in their nature. 

The advice given to a man, and his determination consequent 
to that advice, are things so different in their nature, that it 
would be improper to call them modifications of one and the 
same thing. In like manner, the motives to action, and the de- 
termination to act or not to act, are things that have no common 
nature, and therefore ought not to be confounded under one name, 
or represented as different modifications of the same thing, 

For this reason, in speaking of the will in this Essay, I do not 
comprehend under that term any of the incitements or motives 
which may have an influence upon our determinations, but 
solely the determination itself, and the power to determine. 

Mr. Locke has considered this operation of the mind more 

a 


OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 43 


attentively, and distinguished it more accurately, than some 
very ingenious authors who wrote after him. 

He defines volition to be, “‘ An act of the mind, knowingly 

exerting that dominion it takes itself to have over any part of 
the man, by employing it in, or withholding it from any particular 
- action.” ae 

It may more briefly be defined. The determination of the 
mind to do, or not to do something which we conceive to be in 
our power. 

If this were given asa strictly logical definition, it would be 
liable to this objection, that the determination of the mind is 
only another term for volition. But it ought to be observed, that 
the most simple acts of the mind do not admit of a logical defini- 
tion. The way to form a clear notion of themis, to reflect at- 
tentively upon them as we feel them in ourselves. Without 
this reflection, no definition can give us a distinct conception of 
them. 

For this reason, rather than sift any definition of the will, I 
shall make some observations upon it, which may lead us to re- 
flect upon it, and to distinguish it from other acts of mind, which, 
from the ambiguity of words, are apt to be confounded with it. 

Ist, Every act of will must have an object. He that wills 
must will something ; and that which he wills is called the object 
of his volition. As a man cannot think without thinking of 
something, nor remember without remembering something, so 
neither can he Will without willing something. Every act of 
will, therefore, must have an object; and the person who wills 
must have some conception, more or less distinct, of what he 
wills. ; 

By this, things done voluntarily are distinguished from things 
done merely from instinct, or merely from habit. 

A healthy child, some hours after its birth, feels the sensation 
of hunger, and, if applied to the breast, sucks and swallows its 
food very perfectly. We have no reason to think, that, before 
it ever sucked, it has any conception of that complex operation, 
or how it is performed. It cannot, therefore, with propriety, 
be said, that it wills to suck. 

Numberless instances might be given of things done by ani- 
mals, without any previous conception of what they are to do; 
without the intention of doing it. They act by some inward 
blind impulse, of which the efficient cause is hid from us; and 
though there isan end evidently intended by the action, this in- 

_tention is not in the animal, but in its Maker. 

Other things are done by habit, which cannot properly be 
called voluntary. We shut our eyes several times every minute 
while we are awake ; no man is conscious of willing thissevery 
time he does if. ; . 


| 


ae 


44, ESSAY Ii. 


A second observation is, That the immediate object of will 
must be some action of our own. 

By this, will is distinguished from two acts of the mind, which 
sometimes take its name, and thereby are apt to be confounded 
with it; these are desire and command. 

The distinction between will and desire has been well explain- 
ed by Mr. Locke ; yet many later writers have overlooked it, 
and have represented desire as a modification of will. 

Desire and will agree in this, that both must have an object, 


of which we must have some conception ; and therefore both 


must be accompanied with some degree of understanding. But 
they differ in several things. 

The object of desire may be any thing which appetite, passion, 
or affection, leads us to pursue ; 1t may be any event which we - 
think good for us, or for those to whom we are well affected. | 
may desire meat, or drink, or ease from pain: but to say that I 
will meat, or will drink, or will ease from pain, is not English. 
There is therefore a distinction in common language between 
desire and will. And the distinction is, that what we will must 
be an action, and our own action; what we desire may not be 
our own action, it may be no action at all. 

A man desires that his children may be happy, and that they 
may behave well. Their being happy is no action at all; their 
behaving well is not his action but theirs. 

With regard to our own actions, we may desire What we do 
not will, and will what we do not desire ; nay, WHat we have a 
great aversion to. 

A man athirst has a strong desire to drink, but, for some parti- 
cular reason, he determines not to gratify his desire. A judge, 
from a regard to justice, and to the duty of his office, dooms a 
criminal to die, while, from humanity or particular affection, he 
desires that he should live. A man for health may take a nause- 
ous draught, for which he has no desire, but a great aversion. 
Desire therefore, even when its object is some action of our own, 
is only an incitement to will, but it is not volition. The deter- 
mination of the mind may be, not to do what we desire to do. 
Butas desire is often accompanied by will, we are apt to over- 
look the distinction between them. 

The command of a person is sometimes called his will, some- 
times his desire ; but when these words are used properly, they 
signify three different acts of the mind. 

The immediate object of will is some action of our own; 
the object of a command is some action of another person, over 
whom we claim authority ; the object of desire may be no ac- 
tion at all. 

In giving a command all these acts concur; and as they go 
together, it is not uncommon in language, to give to one the 
name which properly belongs to ina, 


OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 4a. 


A command being a voluntary action, there must be a will to 
_give the command. Some desire is commonly the motive to 
that act or will, and the command is the effect of it. 

Perhaps it may be thought that a command is only a desire 
expressed by language, that the thing commanded should be 
done. But itis not so. Fora desire may be expressed by 
language when there is no command ; and there may possibly 
be a command without any desire that the thing commanded 
should be done. There have been instances of tyrants who 
have laid grievous commands upon their subjects, in order to 
reap the penalty of their disobedience, or to furnish a pretence 
for their punishment. 

We might further observe, that a command is a social act of 
the mind. It can have'no existence but by a communication of 
thought to some intelligent being ; and therefore implies a belief 
that there is such a being, and that we can communicate our 
thoughts to him. 

Desire and will are solitary acts, which do not imply any such 
communication or belief. 

The immediate object of volition therefore, must be some 
action, and our own action. 

A third observation is, That the object of our volition must 
be something which we believe to be in our power, and to 
depend upon our will. 

A man may desire to make a visit to the moon, or to the 
planet Jupiter, but he cannot will or determine to doit ; because 
he knows it is not in his power. If.an insane person should 
make an attempt, his insanity must first make him believe it to 
be in his power. 

A manin hissleep may be struck witha palsy, which deprives 
him of the power of speech; when he awakes, he attempts to 
speak, not knowing that he has lost the power. But when he 
knows by experience that the power is gone, he ceases to make 
the effort. 

The same man, knowing that some persons have recovered 
the power of speech, after they had Jost it by a paralytical stroke, 
may now and then make an effort. In this effort, however, there 
is not properly a will to speak, but a will to try whether he can 
speak or not. 

In like manner, aman may exert his strength to raise a weight, 
which is too heavy for him. But he always does this, either 
from the belief that he can raise the weight, or fora trial whether 
he canor not. I[tis evident therefore, that what we will must 
be believed to be in our power, and to depend upon our will. 

The nert observation is, That when we will to doa thing im- 


mediately, the volition is accompanied with an effort to execute - 


that which we willed. 


If aman wills to raiseza great weight from the ground by the : 


VOL. It. r 


Ab ESSAY Ji. 


strength of his arm, he makes an effort for that purpose propor- 
- tioned to the weight he determines to raise. A great weight re- 
quires a great effort; a small weight a less effort. We say, in- 
deed, that to raise a very small body requires no effort at all. 
But this, | apprehend, must be understood either as a figurative 
way of speaking, by which things very small are accounted as 
nothing, or it is owing to our giving no attention to very small 
efforts, and therefore having no name for them. 

Great efforts, whether of body or mind, are attended with dif- 
ficulty, and when long continued produce lassitude, which requires 
that they should be intermitted. This leads us to reflect upon 
them, and to give them aname. The name effort is commonly 
appropriated to them; and those that are made with ease, and 
leave no sensible effect, pass without observation and without a 
name, though they be of the same kind, and differ only in degree 
from those to which the name is given. i 

This effort we are conscious of, if we will but give attention 
to it ; and there is nothing in which we are in a more strict sense 
active. . 

The dast observation is, That in all determinations of the mind 
that are of any importance, there must be something in the pre- 
ceding state of the mind that disposes or inclines us to that de- 
termination. ey 

If the mind were always ina state of perfect indifference, 
without any incitement, motive, or reason, to act, or not to-act, 
to act one way rather than another, our active power, having ne 
end to pursue, no rule to direct its exertions, would be given 
in vain. We should either be altogether inactive, and never 
will to do any thing, or our volitions would be perfectly unmean- 
ing and futile, being neither wise nor foolish, virtuous nor Vicious. 

We have reason therefore to think, that to every being to 
whom God has given any degree of active power, he has also gi- 
ven some principles of action, for the direction of that power to 
the end for which it was intended. 

Itis evident that in the constitution of man, there are various 
principles of action suited to our state and situatien. A parti- 
cular consideration of these is the subject of the next Essay ; in 
this we are only to consider them in general, witha view to exa- 
mine the relation they bear to volition, and how it is influenced by 
them, 


CHAPTER Ii. 


OF THE INFLUENCE OF INCITEMENTS AND MOTIVES UPON 
THE WILL. 


WE come into the world ignorant of every thing, yet we must 
do many things in order to our subsistence and well being. A 
new-born child may be carried in arms, and kept warm by his 
nurse; but he must suck and swallow his food for himself. And 
this must be done before he has any conception of sucking or 
swallowing, or of the manner in which they are to be performed. 
He is led by nature to do these actions without knowing for what 
end, or what he is about. This we call instinct. | | 

In many cases there is no time for voluntary determination. 
The motions must go on so rapidly, that the conception and 
volition of every movement cannot keep pace with then. In 
some cases of this kind, instinct, in others habit, comes in to our 
aid. 

When a man stumbles and loses his balance, the motion ne- 
cessary to prevent his fail would come too late, if it were the 
consequence of thinking what is fit to be done, and making a vo- 
luntary effort for that purpose. He does this instinctively. 

When a man beats a drum or plays a tune, he has not time to 
direct every particular beat or stop, by a voluntary determina- 
tion; but the habit which may be acquired by exercise, answers 
the purpose as well. 

By instinct, therefore, and by habit, we do many things with- 
out any exercise either of judgment or will. 

In other actions, the will is exerted, but without judgment. 

Suppose a man to know that, in order to live, he must eat. 
What shall he eat? How much? And how often? His reason 
can answer none of these questions ; and therefore can give no 
direction how he should determine. Here again nature, as an 
indulgent parent, supplies the defects of his reason; giving him 
appetite, which shows him when he is to eat, how often, and how 
much; and taste, which informs him what he is, and what he is 
not toeat. And by these principles he is much better directed 
_ than he could be without them, by all the knowledge he can ac- 
quire. 

As the Author of nature has given us some principles of action 
to supply the defects of our knowledge, he has given others to 
supply the defects of our wisdom and virtue. 

The natural desires, affections, and passions, which are com- 
mon to the wise and to the foolish, to the virtuous and to the vi- 
cious, and even to the more sagacious brutes, serve very often to 
' direct the course of human actions. By these principles men 


46 ESSAY Ll. 

may perform the most laborious duties of life, without any regard 
to duty ; and do what is proper to be done, without regard to 
propriety ; like a vessel that is carried on in her proper course 
by a prosperous gale, without the skill or judgment of those that 
are aboard. 

Appetite, affection, or passion, give an impulse to a certain 
action. In this impulse there is no judgment implied. It may 
be weak or strong; we can even conceive it irresistible. In the 
case of madness it isso. Madmen have their appetites and pas- 
sions ; but they want the power of self-government; and there- 
fore we do not impute their actions to the man but to the disease. 

In actions that proceed from appetite or passion, we are pas- 
sive in part, and only in part active. They are therefore partly 
imputed tothe passion; and if it is supposed to be irresistible, 
we do not impute them to the man at all. 

Evenan American savage judges in this manner: When in 
a fit of drunkenness he kills his friend: as soon as he comes to 
himself, he is very sorry for what he has done; but pleads that 
drink, and not he, was the cause. 

We conceive brute animals to have no superior principle to 
control their appetites and passions. On this account, their ac- 
tions are notsubject to law. Men are in a like state in infancy, 
in madness, and in the delirium of a fever. They have appe- 
tites and passions, but they want that which makes them moral 
agents, accountable for their conduct, and objects of moral ap- 
probation or of blame. — 

In some cases, a stronger impulse of appetite or passion may 
oppose a weaker. Here also there may be determination and 
action without judgment. 

Suppose a soldier ordered to mount a breach, and certain of 
present death if he retreats, this man needs not courage to go 
on, fear is suficient. The certainty of present death if he re- 
treats, is an overbalance to the probability of being killed if he 
goes on. ‘The man is pushed by contrary forces, and it requires 
neither judgment nor exertion to yield to the strongest. 

A hungry dog acts by the same principle, if meat is set before 
him, with a threatening to beat himif he touch it. Hunger 
pushes him forward, fear pushes him back with more force, and 
the strongest force prevails. 

Thus we see, that, in many, even of our voluntary actions, we 
may act from the impulse of appetite, affection, or passion, with- 
out any exercise of judgment, and much in the same manner as 
brute animals seem to act. 

Sometimes, however, there is a calm in the mind from the 
gales of passion or appetite, and the man is left to work his way, 
in the voyage of life, without those impulses which they give. 
Then he calmly weighs goods and evils, whichare at too great a 
distance to excite any passion. He judges what is hest upon the 


INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 4D 


whole, without feeling any bias drawing him to one side. He 
judges for himself as he would do for another in his situation ; 
and the determination is wholly imputable to the man, and not 
in any degree to his passion. 

Every man come to years of understanding, who has given 
any attention to his own conduct, and to that of others, has, in 
his mind, a scale or measure of goods and evils, more or less 
exact. He makes an estimate of the value of health, of repu- 
tation, of riches, of pleasure, of virtue, of self-approbation, 
and of the approbation of his Maker. These things, and their 
contraries, have a comparative importance in his cool and deli- 
berate judgment. 

When a man considers whether health ought to be preferred to 
bodily strength, fame to riches ; whether a good conscience and 
the approbation of his Maker, to every thing that can come in 
competition with it; this appears to me to be an exercise of 
judgment, and not any impulse of passion or appetite. 

Every thing worthy of pursuit, must be so, either intrinsically, 
and uponits own account, oras the means of procuring some- 
thing that is intrinsically valuable. That itis by judgment that 
we discern the fitness of means for attaining an end is self-evi- 
dent ; and in this, | think all philosophers agree. But that it is 
the office of judgment to appreciate the value of an end, or the 
preference due to one end above another, is not granted by some 
philosophers. 

In determining what is good or ill, and, of different goods, 
which is best, they think we must be guided, not by judgment, 
but by some natural or acquired taste, which makes us relish one 
thing and dislike another. 

Thus, if one man prefers cheese to lobsters, another Icbsters 
to cheese, it is vain, say they, to apply judgment’ to determine 
which is right. In like manner, if one man prefers pleasure to 
virtue, another virtue to pleasure, this is a matter of taste, judg- 
ment has nothing to do init. This seems to be the opinion of 
some philosophers. 

I cannot help being of a contrary opinion. 1 think we may 
form a judgment both in the question about cheese and lob- 
sters, and in the more important question about pleasure and 
virtue. 

When one man feels a more agreeable relish in cheese, ano- 
ther in lobsters, this, I grant, requires no judgment ; it depends 
only upon the constitution of the palate. But, if we would de- 
termine which of the’ two has the best taste, I think the question 
must be determined by judgment; and that, with a small share 
of this faculty, we may give a very certain determination, to 
wit, that the two tastes are equally good, and that both of the 
persons do equally well, in preferring what suits their palate 
and their stomach. 


a 


od ESSAY IT. 


Nay, I apprehend, that the two persons who differ in their 
taste will, notwithstanding that difference, agree perfectly in 
their judgment, that both tastes are upon a footing of equality, 
and that neither has a just claim to preference. 

Thus it appears, that, in this instance, the office of taste is 
very different from that of judgment; and that men, who differ 
most in taste, may agree perfectly in their judgment, even with 
respect to the tastes wherein they differ. 

To make the other case parallel with this, it must be supposed, 
that the man of pleasure and the man of virtue agree in their 
judgment, and that neither sees any reason to prefer the one 
course of life to the other. 

If this be supposed, I shall grant, that neither of these per- 
sons has reason to condemn the other. Each chooses according 
to his taste, in matters which his best judgment rane 2 to be 
perfectly indifferent. 

But it is to be observed, that this supposition cannot have 
place, when we speak of men, or indeed of moral agents. The 
man who is incapable of perceiving the obligation of virtue, 
when he uses his best judgment, is a man in name, but not in 
reality. He is incapable either of virtue or vice, and is not a 
moral agent. 

Even the man of pleasure, when his judgment is suiihiatd: 
sees, that there are certain things which a man ought not to do, 
though he should have a taste for them. Ifa thief breaks into 
his house and carries off his goods, he is perfectly convinced 
that he did wrong and deserves punishment, although he had as 
strong a relish for the goods as he himself has for the pleasures 
he pursues. 

It is evident, that mankind, in all ages, have conceived two 
parts in the human constitution that may have influence upon 
our voluntary actions. These we call by the general names of 
passion and reason; and we shall find, in all languages, names 
that are equivalent. 

Under the former, we comprehend various principles of ac- 
tion, similar to those we observe in brute ani , and in men 
who have not the use of reason. Appetites, aft 5, passions, 
are the names by which they are denominated ; and these names 
are not so accurately distinguished in common ‘language: but that. 
they are used somewhat promiscuously. This, however, is 
common to them all, that they draw a man toward a certain 
object, without any further view, by a kind of violence ; a vio- 
lence which indeed may be resisted if the man is master of 
himself, but cannot be resisted without a struggle. 

Cicero’s phrase for expressing their influence is, “‘ Hominem 
huc et illuc rapiunt. »» Dr. Hutcheson uses a similar phrase, 
‘* Quibus agitatur mens et bruto quodam impetu fertur.” There 


INPLUENCE OP MOTIVES UPON fHE WILL. di 


is no exercise of reason or judgment necessary in order to feel 
their influence. 

With regard to this part of the human constitution, I see no 
difference between the vulgar and philosophers. 

As to the other part of our constitution which is common- 
ly called reason, as opposed to passion, there have been very 
subtile disputes among modern philosophers, whether it ought 
to be called reason, or be not rather some internal sense or 
taste. Aas : 

Whether it ought to be called reason, or by what other name, 
I do not here inquire, but what kind of influence it has upon 
our voluntary actions. 

As to this point, | think, all men must allow, that this is the 
manly part of our constitution, the other the brute part. This 
operates in a calm and dispassionate manner ; a manner so like 
to judgment or reason, that even those who do not allow it to be 
called by that name, endeavour to account for its having always 
had the name; because, in the manner of its operation, it has a 
similitude to reason. Fae 

As the similitude between this principle and reason has led 
mankind to give it that name, so the dissimilitude between it 
and passion has led them to set the two in opposition. They 
have considered this cool principle, as having an influence upon 
our actions so different from passion, that what a man does 
coolly and deliberately, without passion, is imputed solely to the 
man, whether it have merit or demerit; whereas, what he does 
from passion is imputed in part to the passion. _If the passion 
be conceived to be irresistible, the action is imputed solely to 
it, and not at all to the man. If he had power to resist, and 
ought to have resisted, we blame him for not doing his duty ; 
but, in proportion to the violence of the passion, the fault is al- 
leviated. 

By this cool principle, we judge what ends are most worthy 
to be pursued, how far every appetite and passion may be indul- 
ged, and when it ought to be resisted. 

It directs us, not only to resist the impulse of passion when it 
would lead us wrong, but to avoid the occasions of inflaming it ; 
like Cyrus, who refused to see the beautiful captive princess. 
In this he acted the part both of a wise anda good man; firm 
in the love of virtue, and, at the same time, conscious of the 
weakness of human nature, and unwilling to put it to too severe 
a trial. In this case, the youth of Cyrus, the incomparable 
beauty of his captive, and every circumstance which tended 
to inflame his desire, exalts the merit of his conduct in resist- 
ing it. 

It is in such actions that the superiority of human nature ap- 
pears, and the specific difference between it and that of brutes. 
In them we may observe one passion combating another, and 


‘ 


B24 ESSAY Il. 


the strongest prevailing; but we perceive no calm principle in 
their constitution that is superior to every passion, and able to 
give law to it. 

The difference between these two parts of our constitution 
may be further illustrated by an instance or two wherein passion 
prevails. 

If a man, upon great provocation, strike another when he 
ought to keep the peace, he blames himself for what he did, and 
acknowledges that he ought not to have yielded to his passion. 
Every other person agrees with his sober judgment. They 
think he did wrong in yielding to his passion, when he might 
and ought to have resisted its impulse. If they thought it im- 
possible to bear the provocation, they would not blame him at | 
all; but believing that it was in his power, and was his duty, 
they impute to him some degree of blame, acknowledging, at 
the same time, that it is alleviated in proportion to the provo- 
cation ; so that the trespass is imputed, partly to the man, and 
partly to the passion. But, if a man deliberately conceives a 
design of mischief against his neighbour, contrives the means, 
and executes it, the action admits of no alleviation, it is perfect- 
ly voluntary, and he bears the whole guilt of the evil intended 
and done. 

If a man, by the agony of the rack, is made to disclose a se- 
cret of importance, with which he is intrusted, we pity him 
more than we blame him. We consider, that such is the weak- 
ness of human nature that the resolution, even of a good man, 
might be overcome by sucha trial. But if he have strength of 
mind, which even the agony of the rack could not subdue, we 
admire his fortitude as truly heroical. 

Thus, | think, it appears, that the common sense of men, 
which, in matters of common life, ought to have great authority, 
has led them to distinguish two parts in the human constitution, 
which have influence upon our voluntary determinations. There 
is an irrational part, common to us with brute animals, consist- 
ing of appetites, affections, and passions; and there is a cool 
and rational part. The first, in many cases, gives a strong im- 
pulse, but without judgment and without authority. ‘The second 
is always accompanied with authority. All wisdom and virtue 
consist in following its dictates ; all vice and folly in disobeymg 
them. We may resist the impulses of appetite and passion, not 
only without regret, but with self-applause and triumph; but the 
calls of reason and duty can never be resisted, without remorse 
and self-condemnation. 

The ancient philosophers agreed with the vulgar, in making 
this distinction of the principles of action. The irrational part, 
the Greeks called épun. Cicero calls it appetitus, taking that 
word in an extensive sense, so as to include every propensity 
fo action which is not grounded on judgment. 


tNFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 33) 


The other principle the Greeks called vous; Plato calls it the 
u yavesixov, OF leading principle. Duplex enim est vis animorum at- 
que nature,” says Cicero, “ una pars in appetitu posita est, que 
est opuy Greece, gue hominem huc et illuc rapit ; altera m ratione, 
que docet, et explanat, quid faciendum fugiendumve sit ; ita fit 
ul ratio presit, appetitus obtemperet.” 

The reason of explaining this distinction here is, that these 

two principles influence the will in different ways. . Their in- 
fluence differs, not in degree only, but in kind. This difference 
we feel, though it may be difficult to find words to express it. 
We may perhaps more easily form a notion of it by a simili- 
tude. ; 
It is one thing to push a man from one part of the room to 
another ; it is a thing of a very different nature to use arguments 
to persuade him to leave his place, and go to another. He 
may yield to the force which pushes him, without any exercise 
of his rational faculties; nay, he must yield to it, if he'do not 
Oppose an equal ora greater force. _ His liberty is impaired in 
some degree ; and, if he has not power sufficient to oppose, his 
liberty is quite taken away, and the motion cannot be imputed 
to him at all. The influence of appetite or passion seems to 
me to be very like to this. If the passion be supposed irresisti- 
ble, we impute the action to it solely, and not to the man. If 
he had power to resist, but yields after a struggle, we impute 
the action, partly to the man, and partly to the passion. 

If we attend to the other case, when the man is only urged by 
arguments to leave his place, this resembles the operation of 
the cool or rational principle. It is evident, that whether he 
yields to the arguments or not, the determination is wholly his 
own act, and is entirely to be imputed to him. Arguments, 
whatever be the degree of their strength, diminish not a man’s 
liberty ; they may produce a cool conviction of what we ought 
to do, and they can do nomore. But appetite and passion give 
an impulse to act and impair liberty in proportion to their 
strength. 

With most men, the impulse of passion is more effectual than 
bare conviction ; and, on this account, orators who would per- 
suade, find it necessary to address the passions, as well as to 
convince the understanding ; and, in all systems of rhetoric, these 
two have been considered as different intentions of the orater, 
and to be accomplished by different means. 


VOL. II. 8 


fs 


ex 
te 


ESSAY Il. 


CHAPTER UL. 
\ j 
OF OPERATIONS OF MIND WHICH MAY BE CALLED VOLUNTARY. 


THE faculties of understanding and will are easily distinguish- 
ed in thought, but very rarely, if ever disjoined in operation. 

_ In most, perhaps in all the operations of mind for which we 
have names in language, both faculties are employed, and we are 
both intellective and active. ate 

Whether it be possible that-intelligence may exist without 
some degree of activity, or impossible, is perhaps beyond the 
reach of our faculties to determine ; but, 1 apprehend, that, in 
faet, they are always conjoined in the operations of our minds. 

It is probable, I think, that there is some degree of activity in 
those operations which we refer to the understanding ; accord- 
ingly, they have always, and in all languages, been expressed by 
active verbs ; as, I see, I hear, I remember, I apprehend, I judge, 
Treason. And it is certain, that every act of will must be ac- 
companied by some operation of the understanding ; for he that 
wills, must apprehend what he wills, and apprehension belongs 
to the understanding. 

The operations I am to consider in this chapter, I think have 
commonly been referred to the understanding ; but we shall find 
that the will has so great a share in them, that they may, with 
propriety, be called voluntary. They are these three, attention, 
deliberation, and fixed purpose, or resolution. 

Attention may be given to any object, either of sense or of in- 
tellect, in order to form a distinct notion of it, or to discover its 
nature, its attributes, or its relations, and so great is the effect of 
attention, that, without it, it is impossible to acquire or retain a 
distinct notion of any object of thought. 

If a man hear a discourse without attention, what does he car- 
ry away with him ? If he see St. Peter’s or the Vatican without 
attention, what account can he give of it? While two persons are 
engaged in interesting discourse, the clock strikes within their 
hearing, to which they give no attention; what is the conse- 
quence ? The next minute they know not whether the clock 
struck or not. Yet their ears were not shut. The usual im- 
pression was made upon the organ of hearing, and upon the 
auditory nerve and brain ; but from inattention the sound either 


“was not perceived, or passed in the twinkling of an eye, without 


leaving the least vestige in the memory. 

A man sees not whatis before his.eyes when his mind is occu- 
pled about another object. In the tumult of a battle a man may 
be shot through the body without knowing any thing of the mat- 
ter, till he discover it by the loss of blood or of strength. 


OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 5a 


The most acute sensation of pain may be deadened, if the at- 
tention can be vigorously directed to another object. A gen- 
tleman of my acquaintance, in the agony of a fit of the gout, 
used to call for a chess-board. As he was fond of that game, 
he acknowledged that, as the game advanced and drew his at- 
tention, the sense of pain abated, and the time seemed much 
shorter. 

Archimedes, it is said, being intent upon a mathematical pro- 
position, when Syracuse was taken by the Romans, knew not 
the calamity of the city, till a Roman soldier broke in upon his 
retirement, and gave him a deadly wound ; on which he lament- 
ed only that he had lost a fine demonstration. : 

- It is needless to multiply instances to show, that when one fa- 
culty of the mind is intensely engagedabout any object, the other 
faculties are laid as it were fast asleep. 

It may be further observed, that if there be any thing that can 
be called genius in matters of mere judgment and reasoning, it 
seems to consist chiefly in being able to give that attention to the 
subject which keeps it steady in the mind, till we can survey it 
accurately on all sides. 

There is a talent of imagination, which bounds from earth to 
heaven, and from heaven to earth ina moment. This may be 
favourable to wit and imagery ; but the powers of judging and 


reasoning depend chiefly upon keeping the mind to a clear and. 


steady view of the subject. 

Sir Isaac Newton, to one who complimented him upon the 
force of genius, which had made such improvements in mathe- 
matics and natural philosophy, is said to have made this reply, 
which was both modest and judicious, that, if he had made any 
improvements in those sciences, it was owing more to patient 
attention than to any other talent. 

Whatever be the effects which attention may produce, and I 


apprehend they are far beyond what is commonly believed, it is _ 


for the most part in our power. 

Every man knows that he can turn his attention to this sub- 
ject or to that, for a longer or a shorter time, and with more or 
less intenseness, as he pleases. It isa voluntary act, and de- 
pends upon his will. 

But what was before observed of the will in general, is appli- 
cable to this particular exertion of it, That the mind is rarely 
in a state of indifference, left to turn its attention to the object 


which to reason appears most deserving of it. There is, for the 
most part, a bias to some particular object, more than to any 


other ; and this, not from any judgment of its deserving our at- 
tention more, but from some impulse or propensity, grounded 
on nature or habit. 

It is well known that things new and uncommon, things grand, 
and things that are beautiful, draw our attention, not in propor- 


th 


yf 


36 ESSAY. Ii. 


tion to the interest we have, or think we have in them, but in 
a much greater proportion. 

Whatever moves our passions or affections, draws our atten- 
tion, very often, more than we wish. 

You desire a man not to think of an unfortunate event which 
torments him. It admits of no remedy. The thought of it an- 
swers no purpose but to keep the wound bleeding. He is per- 
fectly convinced of all you say. He knows that he would not 
feel the affliction, if he could only not think of it ; yet he hard- 
ly thinks of any thing else. Strange! when happiness and mi- 
sery stand before him, and depend upon his choice, he chooses 
misery, and rejects happiness with his eyes open ! 

Yet he wishes to be happy, as all men do. How shall we 
reconcile this contradiction between his judgment and his con- 
duct ? 


_... The account of it seems to me to be this: the afflicting event 


draws his attention so strongly, by a natural and blind force, that 
he either has not the power, or has not the vigour of mind to re- 
sist its impulse, though he knows that to yield to it is misery, 
without any good to balance it. 

Acute bodily pain draws our attention, and makes it very dif- 
ficult to attend to any thing else, even when attention to the pain 
serves no other purpose but to aggravate it tenfold. 

The man who played a game at chess in the agony of the gouf, 
to engage his attention to another object, acted the reasonable 
part, and consulted his real happiness ; but it required a great 
effort to give that attention to his game, which was necessary to 
produce the effect intended by it. 

Even when there is no particular object that draws away our 
attention, there is a desultoriness of thought in man, and in some 
more than in others, which makes it very difficult togive that 
fixed attention to important objects which reason requires. 

It appears, I think, from what has been said, that the attention 
we give to objects, is for the most part voluntary : that a great 
part of wisdom and virtue consists in giving a proper direction 
to our attention; and that however reasonable this appears to 
the judgment of every man, yet, in some cases, it requires an 
effort of self-command no less than the most heroic virtues. 

Another operation that may be called voluntary, is delibera- 
tion about what we are to do, or to forbear. 

Every man knows that it is in his power to deliberate or not to 
deliberate about any part of his conduct ; to deliberate for a 
shorter, or a longer time, more carelessly, or more seriously: 
and when he has reason to suspect that his affection may bias his 
judgment, he may either honestly use the best means in his power 
to form an impartial judgment, or he may yield to his bias, and 
only seek arguments to justify what inclination leads him to do. 
In all these points, he determines, he wills, the right or the wrong. 


OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 5% 


‘The general rules of deliberation are perfectly evident to rea- 
son when we consider them abstractly: ‘They are axioms in 
morals. : 

We ought not to deliberate in cases that are perfectly clear. 
No man deliberates whether he ought to choose happiness or 
misery. No honest man deliberates whether he shall steal his 
neighbour’s property. When the case is not clear, when it is of 
importance, and when there is time for deliberation, we ought to 
deliberate with more or less care, in proportion to the impor- 
tance of the action. In deliberation, we ought to weigh things 
in an even balance, and to allow to every consideration the 
weight which, in sober judgment, we think it ought to have, and 
no more. This is to deliberate impartially. Our deliberation 
should be brought to an issue in due time, so that we may not 
lose the opportunity of acting while we deliberate. 

The axioms of Euclid do not appear to me to have a greater 
degree of self-evidence, than these rules of deliberation. And 
as far as a man acts according to them, his heart approves of 
him, and he has confidence of the approbation of the Searcher 
of hearts. 

But though the manner in which we ought to deliberate be 
evident to reason, it is not always easy to follow it. Our appe- 
tites, our affections and passions, oppose all deliberation, but that 
which is employed in finding the means of their gratification. 
Avarice may lead to deliberate upon the ways of making money, 
but it does not distinguish between the honest and the dishonest. 

We ought surely to deliberate how far every appetite and 
passion may be indulged, and what limits should be set to it. 
But our appetites and passions push us on to the attainment of 
their objects, in the shortest road, and without delay. 

Thus it happens, that if we yield to their impulse, we shall 
efien transgress those rules of deliberation which reason ap- 
proves. In this conflict between the dictates of reason, and the 
blind impulse of passion, we must voluntarily determine. When 
we take part with our reason, though in opposition to passion, 
We approve of our own conduct. 

What we call a fault of ignorance, is always owing to the 
want of due deliberation. When we-do not take due pains to 
be rightly informed, there is a fault, not indeed in acting according 
to the light we have, but in not using the proper means to get 
light. For if we judge wrong after using the proper means of 
information, there is no fault in acting according to that wrong 
judgment; the error is invincible. 

The natural consequence of deliberation on any part of our 
conduct, is a determination how we shall act; and if it is not 
brought to this issue it is lost labour. 

There are two cases in which a determination may take place ; 
when the opportunity of putting it in execution is present, and 
when it is at a distance. 


A % 
het 
Dial 


as ESSAY Il. 


When the opportunity is present, the determination to act is 
immediately followed by the action. Thus, if a man determine 
to rise and walk, he immediately does it, unless he is hindered 
by force, or has lost the power of walking. And if he sit still 
when he has power to walk, we conclude infallibly, that he has 
not determined or willed to walk immediately. 

Our determination, or will to act, is not always the result of - 
deliberation, it may be the effect of some passion or appetite, 
without any judgmentinterposed. And when judgmentis inter- 
posed, we may determine and act either according to that 
judgment or contrary to it. 

_ When a man sits down hungry to dine, he eats from appetite, 
very often without exercising his judgment at all ; nature invites 
and he obeys the call, as the ox, or the horse, oras an infant does. 

When we converse with persons whom we love or respect, 
‘we say and do civi] things merely from affection or from respect. 
They flow spontaneously from the heart, without requiring any 
judgment. In such cases we act as brute animals do, or as 
children before the use of reason. We feel an impulse in our 
nature, and we yield to il. 

Whena man eats merely from appetite, he does not consider 


. the pleasure of eating, or its tendency to health. These consi- 


derations are not in his thoughts. But we can suppose a man 
who eats with a view to enjoy the pleasure of eating. Such a 
man reasons and judges. He will take care to use the proper 
means of procuring an appetite. He will bea critic in tastes, 
and make nice discriminations. This man uses his rational 
faculties even in eating. And however contemptible this appli- 
cation of them may be, it is an exercise of which, I apprehend, 
brute animals are not capable. 

In like manner, a man may say, or do civil things to another, 
not from affection, but in order to serve some end by it, or 
because he thinks it his duty. 

To act with a view to some distant interest, or to act froma 
sense of duty, seems to be proper to man asa reasonable being ; 
but to act merely from passion, from appetite, or from affection, 
is common to him with the brute animals. In the last case there 
is no judgment required, but in the first there is. 

To act against what one judges to be for his real good upon 
the whole, is folly. To act against what he judges to be his duty, 
is immorality. It cannot be denied, that there are too many 
instances of bothin human life. Video meliora proboque, deterc- 
ora sequor, is neither an impossible, nor an unfrequent case. 

While a man does what he really thinks wisest and best to be 
done, the more his appetites, his affections and passions draw 


~ him the contrary way, the more he approves of his own conduct, 


and the more he is entitled to the approbation of every rational! 
being. 


OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. pi) 

The third operation of mind I mentioned, which may be called 
voluntary, is, a fixed purpose or resolution, with regard to our 
future conduct. 

This naturally takes place, when any action, or course of 
action, about which we have deliberated, is not immediately to 
be executed, the occasion of acting being at some distance. 

A fixed purpose to do, some time hence, something which we 
believe shall then be in our power, is strictly and properly a 
determination of will, no less than a determination to do it 
instantly. Every definition of volition agrees to it. Whether 
the opportunity of doing what we have determined to do be 
present or at some distance, is an accidental circumstance which 
does not affect the nature of the determination, and no good 
reason can be assigned why it should not be called volition in the 
one case as well as in the other. A purpose, or resolution, 
therefore, is truly and properly an act of will. 

Our purposes are of ‘two kinds. We may call the one parti- 
cular, the other general. By a particular purpose, I mean that 
which has for its object an individual action, limited to one time 
and place; by a general purpose, that of a course or train of 
action, intended for some general end, or regulated by some 
general rule. 

Thus, | may purpose to go to London, next winter. When 
the time comes, I execute my purpose, if I continue of the same 
mind; and the purpose, when executed, is no more. Thus it is 
with every particular purpose. 

A general purpose may continue for life; and, after many 
particular actions have been done in consequence of it, may 
remain and regulate future actions. 

Thus, a young man purposes to follow the profession of law, 
of medicine, or of theology. This general purpose directs the 
course of his reading and study. It directs him in the choice 
of his company and companions, and even of his diversions. It 
determines his travels,and the place of his abode. It has 
influence upon his dread manners, and a considerable effect 
in forming his character. 

There are other fixed purposes which have a still greater 
effect in forming the character. I mean such as regard our moral 
conduct. 

Suppose a man to have exercised his intellectual and mora! 
faculties, so far as to have distinct notions of justice and injus- 
tice, and of the consequences of both, and, after due delibera- 
tion, to have formed a fixed purpose to adhere inflexibly to jus- 
tice, and never to handle the wages of iniquity. 

Is not this the man whom we should calla just man? We con- 
sider the moral virtues as inherent in the mind of a good man, 
even when there is no opportunity of exercising them. And 
whats it in the mind which we can call the virtue of justice, - 


A Ginoe 


60 ESSAY {i- 


when it is not exercised? It can be nothing but a fixed purpose, 
or determination, to act according to the rules of justice, when 
there is opportunity. 

The}Roman law defined justice, 4 steady and perpetual will 
to give lo every man his due. Wherthe opportunity of doing jus- 
tice is not present, this can mean nothing else than a steady pur- 
pose, which is very properly called will. Such a purpose, 
if it is steady, will infallibly produce just conduct; for every 
known transgression of justice demonstrates a change of pur- 
pose, at least for that time. , 

What has been said of justice, may be so easily applied to 
every other moral virtue, that it is unnecessary to give instan- 
ces. They are all fixed purposes of acting according to a cer- 
tain rule. ri 

By this, the virtues may be easily distinguished, in thought 

at least, from natural affections that bear the same name. Thus, 
benevolence is a capital virtue, which, though not so necessary 
to the being of society, is entitled to a higher degree of appro- 
bation than even justice. But there is a natural affection of 
benevolence common to good and bad men, to the virtuous and 
to the vicious. How shall these be distinguished ? 
.. Inpractice, indeed, we cannot distinguish them in other men, 
~ and with difficulty in ourselves ; but in theory, nothing is more 
easy. The virtue of benevolence is a fixed purpose or resolu- 
tion to do good when we have opportunity, from a conviction 
that it is right, and is our duty. The affection of benevolence 
is a propensity to do good, from natural constitution or habit, 
without regard to rectitude or duty. 

There are good tempers and bad, which are a part of the 
constitution of the man, and are really involuntary, though they 
often lead to voluntary actions. A good natural temper is not 
virtue, nor is a bad one vice. Hard would it be indeed to think 
that a man should be born under a decree of reprobation, he- 
cause he has the misfortune of a bad najprel temper. 

The physiognomist saw, in the features of Socrates, the signa- 
tures of many bad dispositions, which that good man acknow- 
ledged he felt within him ; but the triumph of his virtue was the 
greater in having conquered them. 

In men who have no fixed rules of conduct, no self-govern- 
ment, the natural temper is variable by numberless accidents, 
The man who is full of affection and benevolence this hour, 
when a cross accident happens to ruffle him, or perhaps when 
an easterly wind blows, feels a strange revolution in his temper. 
The kind and benevolent affections give place to the jealous and 
malignant, which are as readily indulged in their turn, and for 
ihe same reason, because he feels a propensity to indulge them. 

We may observe, that men who have exercised their rational 
powers, are generally governed in their opinions by fixed prin- 


i 


VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS, 61 


ciples of belief; and men who have made the greatest advance 


in self-government, are governed, in their practice, by general ' 


fixed purposes. Without the former, there would be no steadi- 
ness and consistence in our belief; nor without the latter, in our 
conduct. 

When a man is come to years of understanding; from his 
education, from his company, or from his study, he forms to him- 
self aset of general principles, a creed, which governs his judg- 
ment in particular points that occur. 

If new evidence be laid before him which tends to overthrow 
any of his received principles, it requires in hima great degree 
of candour and love of truth, to give it an impartial examina- 
tion, and to form a new judgment. Most men, when they are 
fixed in their principles, upon what they account sufficient evi- 
dence, can hardly be drawn into a new and serious examination 
of them | : ; 

They get a habit of believing them, which is strengthened by 
repeated acts, and remains immoveable, even when the evi- 
dence upon which their belief was at first grounded, is forgot. 

It is this, that makes conversions, either from religious or poli- 
tical principles, so difficult. 

A mere prejudice of education sticks fast, as a proposition of 
Euclid does with a man who has long ago forgot the proof. Both 
indeed are upon a similar footing. We rest in both, because we 


have long done so, and think we received them at first upon - 


good evidence, though that evidence be quite forgot. 

When we know a man’s principles, we judge by them, rather 
than by the degree of his understanding, how he will determine 
in any point which is connected with them. 

Thus, the judgment of most men who judge for themselves 
is governed by fixed principles; and, I apprehend, that the con- 
duct of most men who have any self-government, and any con- 
‘sistency of conduct, is governed by fixed purposes. 

A man of breeding may, in his natura! temper, be proud, pas- 
sionate, revengeful, and in his morals a very bad man; yet, in 
good company, he can stifle every passion that is inconsistent 
with good breeding, and be humane, modest, complaisant, even 
to those whom in his heart he despises or hates. Why is this 
man, who can command all his passions before company, aslave 
to them in private ? The reason is plain: he has a fixed resolu- 
tion to be a man of breeding, but has no such resolution to be 
aman of virtue. He has combated his most violent passions a 
thousand times before he became master of them in company. 
The same resolution and perseverance would have given him 
the command of them when alone. 

A fixed resolution retains its influence upon the conduct, 
even when the motives to it are not in view, in the same manner 
as a fixed principle retains its influence upon the belief, when 

VOL. HI. 9 


1 


a 
Ps) 


“ 


Rar 
# 


62 ESSAY Il. 


ithe evidence of it is forgot. The former may be called a habit. 
of the will, the latter a habit of the understanding. By such 
habits chiefly, men are governed in their opinions, and in their 
practice. 

A man who has no general fixed purposes, may be: said, as 
Pope says of most women, I hope unjustly, to have no character 
at all. He will be honest or dishonest, benevolent, or malicious, 
compassionate or cruel, as the tide of his passions and affections 
drives him. This however, J believe, is the case of but a few 
in advanced life, and these, with regard to conduct, the weakest 
and most contemptible of the species. fad Oe 

A man of some constancy may change his general purposes 
once or twice in life, seldom more. From the pursuit of plea- 
sure in early life, he may change to that of ambition, and from 
ambition to avarice. But every man who uses his reason in 
the conduct of life, will have some end, to which he gives a pre- 
ference above all others. To this he steers his course ; his pro- 
jects and his actions will be regulated by it. Without this, there 
would be no consistency in his conduct. He would be like a 
ship in the ocean, which is bound to no port, under no govern- 
ment, but Jeft to the mercy of winds and tides. 

We observed before, that there are moral rules respecting the 
attention we ought to give to objects, and respecting our deli- 
berations, which are no less evident than mathematical axioms. 
The same thing may be observed with respect to our fixed pur- 
poses, whether particular or general. . 

Is it not self-evident, that, after due deliberation, we ought to 
yesolye upon that conduct, or that course of conduct, which, to 
our sober judgment, appears to be best and most approvable ? 
That we ought to be firm and steady in adhering to such resolu- 
tions, while we are persuaded that they are right; but open to 
conviction, and ready to change our course, when we have good 
evidence thatit is wrong? Shona}, 

Fickleness, inconstancy, facility, on the one hand, wilfulness, 
inflexibility, and obstinacy, on the other, are moral qualities, 
respecting our purposes, which every one sees to be wrong. A 
manly firmness, grounded upon rational conviction, is the proper 
mean which every man approves and reveres. ; 


63. 


CHAPTER IV. 
COROLLARIES. 


FROM what has been said conceraing the will, it appears, 
Ist, that, assome acts of the will are transient and momentary, 
so others are permanent, and may continue for a Jou ume, or 
even through the whole course of our rational life. 

When I will to stretch out my hand, that will is at an end as 


soon as the action is done. It is anact of the will which begins . 


and ends ina moment. But when I will to attend to a mathe- 
matical proposition, to examine the demonstration and the con- 
sequences that may be drawn from it, this will may continue for 
hours. It must continue as long as my attention contiaues ; 
for no man attends to a mathematical proposition longer than 
he wills. 

The same thing may be said of deliberation, with regard 
either to any point of conduct, or with regard to any general 
course of conduct. We will to deliberate as long as we do de- 
liberate ; and that may be for days or for weeks. 

A purpose or resolution, which we have shown to be an act 
of the will, may continue fora great part of life, or for the 
whole, after we are of age to form a resolution. 

Thas, a merchant may resolve, that, after he has made such 
a fortune by tratiic, he will give it up, and retire to a country 
life. He may continue this resolution for thirty or forty years, 
and execute it at last; but he continues it no longer thaa he 
wills, for he may at any time change his resolution. 

There are, therefore, acts of the will, which are not transient 
and momentary, which may continue long and grow into a habit. 
This deserves the more to be observed, because a very eminent 
philosopher has advanced a,contrary principle ; to wit, that all 
the actsof the will are transient and momentary ; and from that 
principle has drawn very important conclusions, with regard to 
what constitutes the moral character of man. 

A second corollary is, that nothing in a man, wherein the will 
is not concerned, can justly be accounted either virtuous or 
immoral. Ste 

That no blame can be imputed toa man for what is altogether 
involuntary, is so evident in itself, that no arguments can make 
it more evident. The practice of all criminal courts, in all 
enlightened nations is founded upon it. 

If it should be thought an objection to this maxim, that by 
the laws of all nations, children often suffer for the crimes of 
parents, in which they had no hand the answer is easy. 


For, first, Such is the connexion between parents and child- 


{= = 


64 ESSAY Ii. 


ren, that the pumshment of a parent must hurt his children 
whether the law will or not. If a man is fined, or imprisoned ; 
if he loses life, or limb, or estate, or reputation, by the hand of 
justice, his children suffer by necessary consequence. 2dly, 
When laws intend to appoint any punishment of innocent child- 
ren for the father’s crime, such laws are either unjust, or they 
are to be considered as acts of police, and not of jurisprudence, 
and are intended as an expedient to deter parents more effect- 
ually from the commission of the crime. The innocent child- 
ren, in this case, are sacrificed to the public good, in like manner, 
as, to prevent the spreading of the plague, the sound are shut 
up with the infected in a house or ship, that has the infection. 

By the law of England, if a man is killed by an ox goring him, 
or a cart running over him, though there be no fault or neglect 

ing in the owner, the ox or the cart is a deodand, and is confiscated 

to the church. The legislature surely did not intend to punish 

©» the ox as a crminal, far less the cart. The intention evidently 

aig ® to inspire the people with a sacred regard to the life of 
p> Age po 

fd When the Parliament of Paris, witha similar intention, ordain- . 

ed the house in which Ravilliac was born, to be razed to the 

ground, and never to be rebuilt, it would be great weakness 
to conclude, that that wise judicature intended to punish the 

a house. a 

a If any judicature should, in any instance, find a man guilty, 
and an object of punishment, for what they allowed to be alto- 
gether involuntary, all the world would condemn them as men 
who knew nothing of the first and most fundamental rules of 
justice. 

A I have endeavoured to show, that, in our attention to objects, 
in order to forma mght judgment of them; in our deliberation 
about particular actions, or about general rules of conduct; in 
our purposes and resolutions, as well as in the execution of them, 
the will has a principal share. If any man could be found, who, 

_in the whole course of his life, had given due attention to things ~ 
that concern him, had deliberated duly and impartially about his 
conduct, had formed his resolutions, and executed them accord- 
ing to his best judgment and capacity, surely such a man might _ 
hold up his face before God and man, and plead innocence. He 
must be acquitted by the impartial Judge, whatever his natural 
temper was, whatever his passions and affections, as far as they 
were involuntary. 

A third corollary is, that all virtuous habits, when we distinguish 
them from virtuous actions, consist in fixed purposes of acting 
according to the rules of virtue, as often as we haye oppor- 
tunity. ; 

We can conceive in a man a greater ora less degree of steadi- 


2 
“e 


COROLLARIES. ig) 65 
ess to his purposes or resolutions ; but that the general tenor 
of his conduct should be contrary, to them is impossible. 

The man who has a deteru.ined resolution to do his duty in 
every instance, and who adheres steadily to his resolution, is 
a perfect man. The man who has a determined purpose of 
carrying on a course 2 of action which he knows to be wrong, 18 


a hardened offender. Between these extremes there are many " 
intermediate degrees of virtue and vice. 4% 
mag 


a 


ESSAY III. 
i Oeics 
OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. = = 
: - - =o 


/ PART L 


OF THE MECHANICAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 


CHAPTER I. 


OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION IN GENERAL. 

IN the strict philosophical sense, nothing can be called the 
action of aman, but what he previously conceived and willed, 
or determined to do. In morals we commonly employ the word 
in this sense, and never impute any thing toa man as his doing, 
in which his will was not interposed. “But when moral imputa- 
tion is not concerned, we call many things actions of the man, 
which he neither previously conceived nor willed. Hence the 
actions of men have been distinguished into three classes, the 
voluntary, the involuntary, and the mixed. By the last are 
meant such actions as are under the command of the will, but 
are commonly performed without any interposition of will. 

We cannot avoid using the word action in this popular sense, 
without deviating too much from the common use of language ; 
and it is in this sense we use it when we inquire into the princi- 
ples of action in the human mind. wey i 

By principles of action, I understand every thing that incites 
us to act. Pn: <qula 

If there were no incitements to action, active power would be 
jiven usin vain. Having no motive to direct our active exer- 
tions, the mind would, in all cases, be in a state of perfect indiffer- 
ence, to do this or that, or nothing at all. The active power 
would either not be exerted at all, or its exertions would be 
perfectly unmeaning and frivolous, neither wise nor foolish, 
neither good nor bad. ‘To every action that is of the smallest 


OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION, 67 


importance, there must be some incitement, some motive, some 
reason. 

It is therefore a most important part of the philosophy of the 
human mind, to have a distinct and just view of the various 
principles oe action, which the yale of our being has planted 
in our nature, to arrange them properly, and 2) assign to every. 
one its rank. 

By this it is, that we may discover the end of our being, and 
the part which is assigned us upon the theatre of life. In this 
part of the human constitution. the noblest work of God that falls 
within our notice, we may discern most clearly the character of 
him who made us, and how he would have us to employ that 
active power which he has given us. 

[cannot without great diffidence enter upon this ae 
observing that almost every author of reputation, who has givea 
attention to it, has asystem of his own; aad that no man has been 
so happy as to give general satisfaction to those who came after 

im. 


There is a branch of knowledge much valued, and very justly, 
which we call knowledge of the world, knowledge of mankind, 


knowledge of haman nature : this, I think, consists in knowing 


from what priaciples men generally act ; and it is coment the} "isha 
Be 5 


fruit of natural sagacity, joined with cxperience. 

A man of sagacity, who has had occasion to dealin interesting 
matters, with a great variety of persons of different age, sex, 
rank, and profession, learns to jadge what may be expected from 
men in given circumstances ; and how they may be most effec- 
tually induced to act the part which he desires. To know this 
is of so great importance to men in active life, that it is called 
knowing men, and knowing human nature. 

This knowledge may be of considerable use to a man who 
would speculate upon the subject we have proposed, but is uot, 
by itself, sufficient for that purpose. 

The man of the worid conjectures, perhaps with great proba- 
bility, how a man will act in certain given circumstances ; and 
this is all he wants to know. To enter intoa detail of the vari- 
‘ous principles which influence the actions of men, to give them 
distinct names, to define them, and to ascertain their different 
provinces, is the business of a philosopher, and not ofa man of 
the world; and, indeed, it is a matter attended with great difli- 
culty from varioug causes. 

1st, On account of the great number of active principles that 
influence the actions of men. 

_ Man has, not without reason, been called an epitome of the 
universe. His body, by which his mind is greatly affected, being 
a part of the material system, is subject to all the laws of inani- 
mate matter. During some part of his existence, his state is very 
like that of a Veg ehaetey He rises, by imperceptible degrees, 


* 


- aie 


+ 


Pug, 


63 ESSAY III. 


to the animal, and, at last, to the rational life, and has the prin- 
ciples that belong to all. ne 
Another cause of the difficulty of tracing the various principles” 
of action in man, is, that the same action, nay, the same course 
and train of action may proceed from very different principles. 
Men who are fond of a hypothesis, commonly seek no other 
proof of its truth, but that it serves to account for the appear- 
ances which it is brought to explain. This is a very slippery 
kind of proof in every part of philosophy, and never to be trust- 
ed ; but least of all, when the appearances to be accounted for 
are human actions. he ere 
» Most actions proceed from a variety of principles concurring 
in their direction; and, according as we are disposed to judge 
favourably or unfavourably of the person, or of human nature in 
general, we impute them wholly to the best, or wholly to the 
worst, overlooking others which had no small share in them. ~ 
The principles from which men act can be discovered only 
in these two ways; by attention to the conduct of other men, or 
by attention to our own conduct, and to what we feel in our- 
selves. There is much uncertainty in the former, and much 
difficulty in the latter. 4 


i 
_. Men differ much in their characters ; and we can observe the 


* , conduct of a few only of the species. Men differ not only from 


other men, but from themselves at different times, and on differ- 
ent occasions; according as they are in the company of their 
superiors, inferiors, or equals ; according as they are in the eye 
of strangers, or of their familiars only, or in the view of no hu- 
man eye ; according as they are in good or bad fortane, or in 

ood or bad humour. We see but a small part of the actions 
of our most familiar acquaintance ; and what we see may lead 
us to a probable conjecture, but can give no certain knowledge 
of the principles from which they act. VAS a ae 

A man may, no doubt, know with certainty the principles from 
which he himself acts, because he is conscious of them. But 
this knowledge requires an attentive reflection upon the opera- 
tions of his own mind, which is very rarely to be found. It is 
perhaps more easy to find a man who has formed a just notion of 
the character of man in general, or of those of his familiar 
acquaintance, than one who has a just notion of his own charac- 
ter. , eee 

Most men, through pride and self-flattery, are apt to think 
themselves better than they really are ; and some, perhaps from 
melancholy, or from false principles of religion are led to think 
themselves worse than they really are. 

It requires, therefore, a very accurate and impartial examina- 
tion of a man’s own heart, to be able to form a distinct notion of 
the various principles which influence his conduct. That this is 
a matter of great difficulty, we may judge from the very differ- 


OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 69 


ent and contradictory systems of philosophers upon this subject, 
_ from the earliest ages to this day. 

_ During the age of Greek philosophy, the Platonist, the Peri- 
patetic, the Stoic, the Epicurean, had each his own system. In 
the dark ages, the Schoolmen and the Mystics had systems 
diametrically opposite ; and, since the revival of learning, no 
controversy has been more keenly agitated, especially among 
British philosophers, than that about the principles of action in 
the human constitution. 


They have determined, to the satisfaction of the learned, the 


forces by which the planets and comets traverse the boundless 
regions of space ; but have not been able to determine, with 


7 


any degree of unanimity, the forces which every man is conscious — 


of in himself, and by which his conduct is directed. 

Some admit no principle but self-love ; others resolve ali into 
love of the pleasures of sense, variously. modified by the associa- 
tion of ideas ; others admit disinterested benevolence along 
with self-love ; others reduce all to reason and passion ; others 
to passion alone ; nor is there less variety about the number and 
distribution of the passions. 

The names we give to the various principles of action, have 
so little precision, even in the best and purest writers in ever 
language, that, on this account, there is no small difficulty in 
giving them names, and arranging them properly. 


The words appetite, passion, affection, interest, reason, cannot — 


be said to have one definite signification. They are taken some- 
times in a larger, and sometimes ina more limitedsense.. The 
same principle is sometimes called by one of those names, some- 
times by another ; and principles of a very different nature are 
often called by the same name. 

To remedy this confusion of names, it might perhaps seem 
proper to invent new ones. But there are so few entitled te 
this privilege, that I shall not lay claim to it; but shall endea- 


vour to class the various principles of human action as distinctly. 


as I am able, and to point out their specific differences ; giving 
them such names as may deviate from the common use of the 
words as little as possible. 

There are some principles of action which require no atten- 
tion, no deliberation, no will. These, for distinction’s sake, we 
shall call mechanical. Another class we. may call animal, as 
they seem common to man with other animals.. A third class 
we may Call rational, being proper to man as a rational creature. 


Ears PN 
b Set 
pie a 

az 


VOL»: Ili. 10 


Loa 


70 : ESSAY IIL, 


<- 


CHAPTER I. ae 
OF INSTINCT. 


THE mechanical principles of action may, I think, be reduced 
to two species, instincts and habits. 
By instinct, | mean a natural blind impulse to certain actions, 
without having any end in view, without deliberation, and very 
_ often without any conception of what we do. big ti 
Thus a man breathes while he is alive, by the alternate con- 
traction and relaxation of certain muscles, by which the chest, 
dnd-of consequence the lungs, are contracted and dilated. There 
‘is no reason to think, that an infant new-born, knows that breath- 
ing is necessary to life in its new state, that he knows how it 
must be performed, or even that he has any thought or concep- 
tion of that operation ; yet he breathes as soon as he is born, 
with perfect regularity, as if he had been taught, and got the 
habit by long practice. | 
By the same kind of principle, a new-born child, when its 


~ stomach is emptied, and nature has brought milk into the mother’s 


breast, sucks and swaHows its food as perfectly as if it knew the 
principles of that operation, and had got the habit of working 
according to them. 

Sucking and swallowing are very complex operations. Anato- 
mists describe about thirty pair of muscles that must be employed 
in every draught. Of those muscles, every one must be served 
by its proper nerve, and can make no exertion but by some 
influence communicated by the nerve. | The exertiomof all those 
muscles and nerves is not simultaneous. They must succeed 
each other in a certain order, and their order is no less necessary 
than the exertion itself. ‘ ‘ 

This regular train of operations is carried on according to the 


~ nicest rules of art, by the infant who has neither art, nor science, 


nor experience, nor habit. 
: That the infant feels the uneasy sensation of hunger, I admit; 
and that it sucks no longer than till this sensation be removed. 
But who informed it that this uneasysensation might be removed, 
or by what means ? That it knows nothing of this is evident ; 
for it will as readily sucka finger, or a bit of stick, as the nipple. 
By a like principle it is, that infants cry when they are pained | 
or hurt ; that they are afraid when left alone, especially in the 
dark ; that they start when in danger of falling; that they are 
terrified by an angry countenance, or an angry tone of voice, and 
are soothed and comforted by a placid countenance, and by soft 
and gentle tones of voice. 


OF INSTINCT. ie! 


In the animals we are best acquainted with, and which we look 
upon as the more perfect of the brute creation, we see much 
the same instincts as in the human kind, or very similar ones, 
suited to the particular state and manner of life of the animal. 

Besides these, there are in brute animals instincts peculiar to 
each tribe, by which they are fitted for defence, for offence, or 
for providing for themselves, and for their offspring. - 

It is not more certain, that nature has furnished various ani- 
mals with various weapons of offence and defence, than that the 
same nature has taught them how to use them ; the bull and the 
ram to butt, the horse to kick, the dog to bite, the lion to use 
his paws, the boar his tusks, the serpent his fangs, and the bee 
and wasp their sting. ; 

The manufactures of animals, if we may call them by that 
name, present us with a wonderful variety of instincts, belonging | 
to particular species, whether of the social or of the solitary kind ; 
the nests of birds, so similar in their situation and architecture 
in the same kind, so various in different kinds ; the webs of spi- 
ders, and of other spinning animals ; the ball of the silk worm ; 
the nests of ants and other mining animals ; the combs of wasps ; 
hornets, and bees; the dams and houses of beavers. 

The instinct of animals is one of the most delightful and in- 
structive parts of a most pleasant study, that of natural history ; 
and deserves to be more cultivated than it has yet been. 

Every manufacturing art among men was invented by some man, 
improved by others, and brought to perfection by time and ex- 
perience. Men learn to work in it by long practice, which pro- 
duces ahabit. The arts of men vary in every age, and in every 
nation, and are found only in those who have been taught them. 

The manufactures of animals differ from those of men in many 
striking particulars. 

No animal of the species can claim the invention. No ani- 
mal ever introduced any new improvement, or any variation 
from the former practice. Every one of the species has equal 
skill from the beginning, without teaching, without experience, 
or habit. Every one has its art by a kind of inspiration. Ido 
not mean that it is inspired with the principles or rules of the art, 
but with the ability and inclination of working in it to perfection, 
without any knowledge of its principles, rules, or end. 

The more sagacious animals may be taught to do many things 
which they do not by instinct. What they are taught to do, they 
do with more or less skill, according to their sagacity and their 
training. But, in their own arts, they need no teaching nor 
training, nor is the art ever ‘improved or lost. Bees gather 
their honey and their wax, they fabricate their combs and rear 
their young at this day, neither better nor worse than they did 
when Virgil so sweetly sung their works. 1 


r 


The work of every animal is indeed like the works of fatne: 


a ESSAY III. 


perfect in its kind, and can bear the most critical examination 
of the mechanic or the mathematician. One example from the 
animal last mentioned may serve to illustrate this. — 

Bees, itis well known, construct their combs with small cells, 
en both sides, fit both for holding their store of honey, and for 
rearing their young. There are only three possible figures of 
the cells, which can make them all equal and similar, without 
any useless interstices. ‘These are the equilateral triangle, the 
square, and the regular hexagon: : 

It is well known to mathematicians, that there is not a fourth 
way possible, in which a plane may be cut into little spaces that 
_ shall be equal, similar, and regular, without leaving any intersti- 
ces. Of the three, the hexagon is the most proper, both for 
conveniency and strength. Bees, as if they knew this, make 
their cells regular hexagons. _ | 

As the combs have cells on both sides, the cells may either 
be exactly opposite, having partition against partition, or the 
bottom of a cell may rest upon the partitions between the cells 
on the other side, which will serve as a buttress to strengthen if, 
The last way is best for strength; accordingly, the bottom of each 
eell rests against the point where three partitions meet on the 
other side, which gives it all the strength possible. 

The bottom of a cell may either be one plane perpendicular 
to the side partitions, or it may be composed of several planes, 
meeting in a solid angle in the middle point. Itis only in one of 
these two ways, that all the cells can be similar without losin 
room. And, for the same intention, the planes of which the 
bottom is composed, if there be more than one, must be three 
in number, and neither more nor fewer. — 

It has been demonstrated, that, by making the bottoms of the 
cells to consist of three planes meeting in a point, there is a 
saving of material and Jabour no way inconsiderable. The bees, 


as if acquainted with these principles of solid geometry, follow 


them most accurately ; the bottom of each cell being composed 
of three planes which make obtuse angles with the side parti- 


tions, and with one another, and meet in a point in the middle 


of the bottom; the three angles of this bottom being supported 
by three partitions on the other side of the comb, and the point 
ef it by the commonintersection of those three partitions. 

One instance more of the mathematical skill displayed in the 
structure of a honeycomb deserves to be mentioned. 

It is a curious mathematical problem, at what precise angle the 
three planes which compose the bottom of a cell ought to meet, 
in order to make the greatest possible saving, or the least ex- 
pense, of material and labour. 

This is one of those problems, belonging to the higher parts 
of mathematics, which are called problems of maxima and mvi- 
nima. It has been resolved by some mathematicians, particu- 


~ 
é 


OF INSTINCT. 


larly by the ingenious Mr. Maclarurin, by a fluxionary calcula- _ 


tion, which is to be found in the transactions of the Royal 
Society of London. He has determined precisely the angle re- 

uired ; and he found, by the most exact mensuration the sub- 
ject could admit, that it is the very angle, in which the three 
planes in the bottom of the cell of a honeycomb do actually 
meet. 

Shall we ask here, who taught the bee the properties of solids, 
and to resolve problems of maxima and minima? If a honey- 
comb were a work of human art, every man of common sense 
would conclude, without hesitation, that he who invented the 
construction, must have understood the principles on which it is 
constructed. ; 

We need not say that bees know none of these things. They 
work most geometrically, without any knowledge of geometry ; 
somewhat like a child, who, by turning the handle of an organ, 
makes good music, without any knowledge of music. 

The art is not in the child, but in him who made the organ. 
In like manner, when a bee makes its combs so geometrically, 
the geometry is not in the bee, but in that great Geometrician 
who made the bee, and made all things in number, weight, and 
measure. 

To return to instincts in man ; those are most remarkable 
which appear in infancy, when we are ignorant of every thing 
necessary to our preservation, and therefore must perish, if we 
had not an invisible guide, who leads us blindfold in the way we 
should take, if we had eyes to see it. 

Besides the instincts which appear only in infancy, ‘and are in- 
tended to supply the want of understanding in that early period, 
there are many which continue through hfe, and which supply 
the defects of our intellectual powers in every period. Ofthese 
we may observe three classes. 

Ist, Thereare many things necessary to be done for our pre- 
servation, which, even when we will to do, we know not the 
means by which they must be done. 

A man knows that he must swallow his food before it can 
nourish him. But this action requires the co-operation of many 
nerves and muscles, of which he knows nothing ; andif it were 
to be directed solely by his understanding and will, he would 
starve before he learned how to perform it. 

Here instinct comes in to his aid. He needs do no more than 
will to swallow. All the requisite motions of nerves and muscles 
immediately take place in their proper order, without his know- 
ing or willing any thing about them. 

If we ask here, whose will do these nerves and muscles obey ? 
Not his, surely, to whom they belong. He knows neither their 
names, nor nature, nor office ; he never thought of them. They 
are moved by some impulse, of which the cause is unknown, 


a. 
v 


74 ESSAY Ill. 


without any thought, will, or intention on his part, that is, they 

are moved instinctively. F 
This is the case, in some degree, in every voluntary motion of 

our body. Thus, I willto stretch out my arm. The effect im- 


mediately follows. But we know that the arm is stretched out 
__ by the contraction of certain muscles ; and that the muscles are 


contracted by the influence of the nerves. . 1 know nothing, I 


_ think nothing, either of nerves or muscles, when I stretch out 
_ myarm ; yet this nervous influence and this contraction of the 
muscles, uncalled by me, immediately produce the effect which 

Twilled. This is, as if a weight were to be raised, which can 


be raised only by a complication of levers, pulleys, and other 
mechanical powers, that are behind the curtain, and altogether 
unknown to me. I will to raise the weight ; and no sooner is 
this volition exerted, than the machinery behind the curtain falls 
to work and raises the weight. 

If such a case should happen, we would conclude, that there 
is some person behind the curtain, who knew my will, and put 
the machine in motion to execute it. 

The case of my willing to stretch out my arm, or to swallow 
my food, has evidently a great similarity to this. But who it is 
that stands behind the curtain, and sets the internal machinery 
agoing, is hid from us; so strangely and wonderfully are we 
made. This, however, is evident, that those internal motions 
are not willed nor intended by us, and therefore are instinctive. 

A second case in which we have need of instinct, even in 
advanced life, is, when the action must be so frequently repeated, 
that to intend and willit every time it is done, would occupy too 
much of our thought, and leave no room for other necessary 
employments of the mind. 

We must breathe often every minute, whetherawakeor asleep. 
We must often close the eyelids, in order to preserve the lustre 
of the eye. If these things required particular attention and 
volition every time they are done, they would occupy all our 
thought. Nature therefore gives an impulse to do them as often 


as is necessary, without any thought at all. They consume no 


time, they give not the least'interruption to any exercise of the 
mind ; because they are done by instinet. 
A third case, in which we need the aid of instinct, is, when 


‘the action must be done so suddenly, that there is no time to think 


and determine. When a man loses his balance, either on foot 
or on horseback, he makes an instantaneous effort to recover it 
by instinct. The effort would be in vain, if it waited the deter- 
mination of reason and will. 

When any thing threatens our eyes, we wink hard by instinct, 
and can hardly avoid doing so, even when we know that the 
stroke is aimed in jest, and that we are perfectly safe from danger. 
Lhave seen this tried upon a wager, which a man was to gain if 


1g 
OF INSTINCT. ta 


he could keep his eyes open, while another aimed a stroke at 
them in jest. -The difficulty of doing this shows that there may 
be a struggle between instinct and will; and that it is not easy 
to resist the impulse of instinct, even by a strong resolution not 
to yield to it. 

* Thus the merciful Author of our nature, has adapted our 
instincts to the defects, andto the weakness of our understanding. 
Tn infancy we are ignorant of every thing ; yet many things must 
be done by us for our preservation : these are done by instinct. 
When we grow up, there are many motions of our limbs and 
bodies necessary, which can be performed only by a curious and 
complex internal machinery ; a machinery of which the bulk 
of mankind are totally ignorant, and which the most skilful 
anatomist knows but imperfectly. All this machinery is set 
agoing by instinct. We need only to will the external motion, 
and all the internal motions, previously necessary, to the effect, 
take place of themselves, without our will or command. 

Some actions must be so often repeated, through the whole of 
life, that, if they required attention and will, we should be able 
to do nothing else : these go on regularly by instinct. 

Our preservation from danger often requires such sudden 
exertions, that there is no time to think and to determine: 
accordingly, we make such exertions, by instinct. 

Another thing in the nature of man, which I take to be partly, 
though not wholly, instinctive, is his proneness to imitation. 

Aristotle observed long ago, that man is an imitative animal. 
He is so in more respects than one. - He is disposed to imitate 
what he approves. In all arts men learn more, and more agree- 
ably by example than by rules. Imitation by the chissel, by the 

pencil, by description, prosaic, and poetical, and by action and 
gesture, have been favourite and elegant entertainments of the 
whole species, In all these cases, however, the imitation is 
intended and willed, and therefore cannot be said to be in- 
stinctive. 

But, I apprehend, that human nature disposes us to the 
imitation of those. among whom we live, when we neither desire 
nor will it. 

Let an Englishman, of middle age, take up his residence in 
Edinburgh or Glasgow ; although he has not the least intention 
to use the Scots dialect, but a firm resolution to preserve his own 
pure and unmixed, he will find it very difficult to make good his 
intention. He will, ina course of years, fall insensibly, and 
without intention, into the tone .and accent, and even into the 
words and phrases of those he converses with; and nothing can 
preserve him from this, but a strong disgust to every Scotticism, 
which perhaps may overcome the natural instinct. ; 

Tt is commonly thought that children often learn to stammer 


 — a 
h, 
» 
76 ESSAY ili. 


by imitation; yet I believe no person ever desired or willed fo 
learn that quality. . es 

I apprehend that instinctive imitation has no small influence ir 
forming the peculiarities of provincial dialects, the peculiarities 

__ of voice, gesture, and manner, which we see in some families; 

the manners peculiar to different ranks and different professions ; 

and perhaps even in forming national characters, and the human 
character in general. ; 

The instances that history furnishes of wild men, brought up 
from early years, without the society of any of theirownspecies 
are so few, that we cannot build conclusions upon them with 
great certainty. But all 1 have heard of agreed in this, that 
the wild man gave but very slender indications of the rational 
faculties; and, with regard to his mind, was hardly distinguish- 
able from the more sagacious of the brutes. 

There is a ‘considerable part of the lowest rank in every 
nation, of whom it cannot be said that any pains have been taken 
by themselves, or by others, to cultivate their understanding, or 
to form their manners; yet we see an immense difference 
between them and the wild man. 

This difference is wholly the effect of society ; and, I think, 
it is in a great measure, though not wholly, the effect of unde- 
signed and instinctive imitation. 

Perhaps, not only our actions, but even our judgment, and 
belief is, in some cases, guided by instinct, that is, by a natural 
and blind impulse. ; : | 

When we consider man as a rational creature, it may seem — 
right that he should have no belief but what is grounded upon | 
evidence, probable or demonstrative ; and it is, I think, commonly | 
taken for granted, that it is always evidence, real or apparent, | 
that determines our belief. ’ 

If this be so, the consequence is, that, in no case, can there 
be any belief, till we find evidence, or at least, what to our judg- | 
ment appears to be evidence. I suspect it is not so; but that . 
on the contrary, before we grow up to the full use of ourrational 

+ 


faculties, we do believe, and must believe many things without 
any evidence at all. 
The faculties which we have in common with brute animals, 
are of earlier growth than reason. We are irrational animals | 
fora considerable time before we can properly be called rational. 
The operations of reason spring up by imperceptible degrees ; 
nor is it possible for us to trace accurately the order in 
which they rise. The power of reflection, by which only we 
could trace the progress of our growing faculties, comes too late 
to answer thatend. Some operations of brute animals look 
so like reason, that they are not easily distinguished from it. 
Whether brutes have any thing that can properly be called belief. 


ON INSTINCT. rar 


} —_ say ; but their actions show something that looks very 
like it. 

If there be any instinctive belief in man, it is probably of the 
same kind with that which we ascribe to brutes, and may be 
specifically different from that rational belief which is grounded 
on evidence; but that there is something in man which we call 
belief, which is not grounded on evidence, | think, must be 
granted. ‘ 

We need to be informed of many things before we are capable 
of discerning the evidence on which they rest. Were our be- 
lief to be withheld till we are capable, in any degree, of weigh- 
ing evidence, wes ould lose all the benefit of that instruction 
and information, w out which we could never attain the use of 
ourational faculties. 

Man would never acquire the use of reason if he were not 
brought up in the society of reasonable creatures. The benefit 
he receives from society, is derived partly from imitation of 
what he sees others do, partly from the instruction and informa- 
tion they communicate to him, without which he could neither 
be preserved from destruction, nor acquire the use of his rational 
powers. ; 

Children have a thousand things to learn, and they learn many 
things every day; more than will be easily ‘believed by those 
who have never given attention to their progress. F 

Oportet discentem credere is a common adage. Children have 
every thing to learn; and, in order to learn, they must believe 
their instructers. They need a greater stock of faith from infan- 
cy to twelve or fourteen, than ever after.” But how shall they 
get this stock so necessary to them? If their faith depend upon 
evidence ; the stock of evidence, real or apparent, must bear 
proportion to their faith. But such, in reality, is their situation, 
that when their faith must be greatest, the evidence is least. 
They believe a thousand things before they ever spend a thought 
upon evidence. Nature supplies the want of evidence, and 
gives them an instinctive kind of faith without evidence. 

They believe implicitly whatever they are told, and receive 
with assurance the testimony of every one, without ever think- 
ing of a reason why they should do so. 

A parent ora master might command them to believe, but 
‘in vain: for belief is not in our power; but in the first part of 
life, it is governed by mere testimony in matters of fact, and by 
mere authority in all other matters, no less than by evidence in 
riper years. 

It is not the words of the testifier, but his belief, that produces 
this belief in a child: for children soon learn to distinguish what 
is said in jest, from what is said in good earnest. What appears 
to them to be said in jest, produces no belief. They glory in 
showing that they are not tobe imposedon, When the signs of 

YOU, ¥t. ; 1 


we 


pel 


73 ESSAY il. 


belief in the speaker are ambiguous, it is pleasant to obsi 
with what sagacity they pry into his features, to discern w 
he really believes what he says, or only counterfeits belie 
soon as this point is determined, their belief is regulated by 


If he be doubtful, they are doubtful, if he be assured, ay ire 


‘also assured. on 
It is well known what a deep impression religious principles 
zealously inculcated, make upon the minds of children. The 
absurdities of chosts and hobgoblins early impressed, h been 
known to stick so fast, even in enlightened minds, as to baffle all 
rational conviction. Viner? ) 
When we grow up to the use of reason, testimony attended 
with certain circumstances, or even authority, may afford a aa 
tional ground of belief; but with children, without any 
to circumstances, either of them operates like demo 
And as they seek no reason, nor can give any reason, for thi 
gard to testimony and to authority, it is the effect ofa putprel 
impulse, and may be called instinct. balls lohie ve 
Another instance of belief which appears to be instinctive, is 
that which children show even in infancy, that an event which 
they have observed in certain circumstances, will happen again 


‘in hike circumstances. A child of half a year old, who has once 


burned his finger by putting it in the candle, will not put it there 
again. And if you make a show of putting it in the candle t 
force, you see the most manifest signs that he believes he shall 
meet with the same calamity. seats 

Mr. Hume has shown very clearly, that this belictien not. the 
effect either of reason or experience. He endeavours to ac- 
count for it by the association of ideas. Though lam not satis- 
fied with his account of this phenomenon, | shall not now exa- 
mine it ; because it is sufficient for the »present argument, that 
this belief is not grounded on evidence, real or apparent, which 
I think he clearly proves. od eee 

A person who has lived so long in the apres as to observe 
that nature is governed by fixed: laws, may a rational 
ground to expect similar events in similar circumstances ; but 
this cannot be the case of the child. His belief therefore is not 
grounded on evidence. lt is the result of his constitution. | 

Nor is it the less so, though it should arise from the association _ 
of ideas. For what is called the association of ideas isa law of | 7 
nature in our constitution; which produces its effects without — 
any operation of reason on our part, and ina mannerof which — 
we are entirely ignorant. «hE eeyie 
? | netiah 

Abt F tee 


. fist Poni Ato 


CHAPTER III. 


OF HABIT. 


' HABIT differs from instinct, notin its nature, but in ils ori- 
gin; the latter being natural, the former acquired. Both ope- 
rate without will orintention, without thought, and therefore may 
be called mechanical principles. 

Habit is commonly. defined, a facility of doing a thing, acqui- 
ved by having done it frequently. This definition is sufficient 
for habits of art; but the habits which may, with propriety, be 
called principles of action, must give more than a facility, they 
‘must give an inclination or impulse to do the action; and that, 
in many cases, habits have this force, cannot be doubted. 

How many awkward habits, by frequenting improper compa- 
ny, are children apt to learn, in their address, motion, looks, 
gesture, and pronunciation. They acquire such habits commonly 
from an undesigned and instinctive imitation, before they can 
‘judge of whatis proper and becoming. 

When they are a little advanced in understanding, they may 
easily be convinced that such a thing is unbecoming, they may 
resolve to forbear it, but when the habit is formed, such a gene- 
ral resolution is not of itself sufficient ; for the habit will operate 
without intention; and particular attention is necessary, on 
every occasion, to resist ifs impulse, until it be undone by the 
habit of opposing it. 

It is owing to the force of habits, early acquired by imitation, 
that a man who has grown up to manhood in the lowest rank of 
life, if fortune raise him to a higher rank, very rarely acquires the 
air and manners of a gentleman. 

When to that instinctive imitation, which I spoke of before, 
we join the force of habit, it is easy to see, that these mechani- 
cal principles have no small share in forming the manners and 
character of most men. 

The difficulty of overcoming vicious habits, has, in all ages, 
been a common topic of theologians and moralists; and we see 
too many sad examples to permit us to doubt of it. 

There are good habits, in a moral sense, as well as bad; and 
it is certain, that the stated and regular performance of what we 
approve, not only makes it easy, but makes us uneasy in the 
omission of it. This is the case, even when the action derives 
allits goodness from the opinion of the performer. A good illite- 
rate Roman Catholic does not sleep sound if he goes to bed 
without telling his beads, and repeating prayers which he does 
not understand. 


err er 


a 


8@ ESSAY 11. 


Aristotie makes wisdom, prudence, good sense, science, and ~ 
art, as well as the moral virtues and vices, to be habits. If he 


meant no more, by giving this name to all those intellectual and 


moral qualities, than that they are all strengthened and confirm- 
ed by repeated acts, this is undoubtedly true. I take the ord 


in a less extensive sense, when | consider habits as principles of — 


action. J conceive it to be a part of our constitution, that what 
we have been accustomed to do, we acquire, not only a { cility, 
but.a proneness to do on like occasions; so that it requires a 
particular will and effort to forbear it ; but to do it, requires very 
often no willat all. We are carried by habit as bya stream in- 
swimming, if we make no resistance. . y Aperd 
Every art furnishes examples, both of the power of habits 
and of their utility ; no one more than the most common of all 
arts, the art of speaking. roi ar yr 
Articulate language is spoken, not by nature, but by art. Itis 
no easy matter to children, to learn the simple sounds of Jan- 
guage ; | mean, to learn to pronounce the vowels and conso- 
nants. It would be much more difficult, if they were not led 
by instinct to imitate the sounds they hear; for the difficulty is 
vastly greater of teaching the deaf to pronounce the letters and 
words, though experience shows that it can be done. 
What is 11 that makes this pronunciation so easy at last which 
wasso difficult at first? It is habit. + aie 
But from what cause does it happen, that a good speaker no. 
sooner conceives what he would express, than the letters, sylla- 
bles, and words arrange themselves according to innumerable 
rules of speech, while he never thinks of these rules? He means 
to express certain sentiments; in order to do this properly, a 
selection must be made of the materials out of many thousands. 
He makes this selection without any expense of time or thought. 
The materials selected must be arranged in a particular order, 
according to innumerable rules of grammar, logic, and rhetoric, 
and accompanied witha particular tone and emphasis. He does 
all this as it were by inspiration, without thinking of any of these 
rules, and without breaking one of them. 


This art, if it were not more common, would appear more - 


wonderful, than that a man should dance blindfold amidst a 
thousand burning ploughshares, without being burnt ; yet all this 
may be done by habit. je 

It appears evident, that as, without instinct, the infant could! 
not live to become aman, so, without habit, man would remain 
an infant through life, and would be as helpless, as unhandy, as 
speechless, and as much a child in understanding at threescore 
as at three. 

I see no reason to think, that we shall ever be able to assign 
the physieal cause, either of instinct. or of the power of habit. 


q 


OF HABIT. 61 


Both seem io be parts of our original censtitution. Their 
end and use is evident; but we can assign no cause of them, but 
the will of him who made us. 

_ With regard to instinct, which is a natural propensity, this will 
perhaps be easily granted ; but it is no less true with regard to 
that power and inclination which we acquire by habit. 

No man can show a reason why our doing a thing frequently 
should produce either facility or inclination to do it. 

The fact is so notorious, and so constantly in our éye, that we 
are apt to think no reason should be sought for it, any more than 
why the sun shines. But there must be a cause of the sun’s shi- 
ning, and there must be a cause of the power of habit. 

We see nothing analogous to it in inanimate matter, or in things 
made by human art. Aclock or a watch, a wagon or a plough, 
by the custom of going, does not learn to go better, or require 
less moving force. The earth does not.increase in fertility by 
the custom of bearing crops. 

Jt issaid, that trees and other vegetables, by growing long in 
an unkindly soil or climate, sometimes acquire qualities by which 
they can bear itsinclemency with less hurt. ‘This, in the vege- 
table kingdom, has some resemblance to the power of habit ; 
but in inanimate matter, I know nothing that resembles it. 

A stone loses nothing of its weight by being long supported, 
or made to move upward. A body, by being tossed about ever 
so long, or ever so violently, loses nothing of its inertia, nor ac- 
quires the least disposition to change its state. 


: ' vi apuye 
‘ ESSAY IIL. ibe wise 
OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. | 
uch) "ghee 
: PART IL ly bes 
OF ANIMAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION 
aot a) 


| 


CHAPTER I. 
OF APPETITES. 


HAVING discoursed of the mechanical principles of action. 
I proceed to-consider those I called animal. ete eis he 

They are such as operate upon the will and intention, but do 
not suppose any exercise of judgment or reason; and are most 
of them to be found in some brute animals, as well as in man. 

In this class, the first kind | shall call appetites, taking that 
word in.a stricter sense than it is sometimes taken, even by good 
writers. nie cat 

The word appetite is sometimes limited, so as to signify only 
the desire of food when we hunger ; sometimes it is extended so 
as to signify any strong desire, whatever be its object. Without 
pretending to censure any use of the word which custom has au- 
thorized, I beg leave to limit it to a particular class‘of desires, 
which are distinguished from all others by the following marks. 

Ist, Every appetite is accompanied with an uneasy sensation 
proper to it, which is strong or weak, in proportion to the desire 
we have of the object. 2dly, Appetites are not constant, but 
periodical, being sated by their objects for a time, and returning 
after cértain periods. Such is the nature of those principles of 
action to which I beg leave, in this Essay, to appropriate the 
name of. appetites. Those that are chiefly observable in man, 
as well as in most other animals, are hunger, thirst, and lust. 

If we attend to the appetite of hunger, we shall find in it two 
ingredients, an uneasy sensation and a desire to eat. The de- 


OF ‘APPETILES. 83 


sire keeps pace with the sensation, and ceases when it ceases, 
When a man is sated with eating, both the uneasy sensation and 
the desire to eat cease for a time, and return after a certain in- 
terval. So it is with other appetites. 

In infants, for some time after they come into the world, the 
uneasy sensation of hungeris probably the whole. We cannot 
suppose in them, before experience, any conception of eating, nor 
consequently, any desire of it. They are led by mere instinct to 
suck when they feel the sensation of hunger. But when experi- 
ence has connected, in their imagination, the uneasy sensation 
with the means of removing it, the desire of the last comes to 
be so associated with the first, that they remain through life in- 
separable: and we give the name of hunger to the principle 
that is made up of both, , 

_ That the appetite of hunger includes the two ingredients I 
have mentioned, will not, | apprehend, be questioned. I take 
notice of it the rather Because we may, if I mistake not, find a 
similar composition in other principles of action. They are 
made up of different ingredients, and may be analyzed into the 
parts that enter into their composition. 

If one philospher should maintain, that hunger is an uneasy 
sensation, another, that it is a desire to eat, they seem to differ 
widely ; for a desire and a sensation are very different things, 
and have no similitude. But they are both in the right; for 
hunger includes both an uneasy sensation and a desire to eat. 

Although there has been no such dispute among philosophers 
as we have supposed with regard to hunger, yet there have been 
similar disputes with regard to other principles of action ; and 
it deserves to be considered whether they may not be terminated 
in a similar manner. 

_ The ends for which our natural appetites are given, are too 
evident to escape the observation of any manof the least reflec- 
tion. Two of those I named are intended for the preservation 
of the individual, and the third for the continuance of the 
species. ‘ 
. The reason'of mankind would be altogether insufficient for 
these ends, without the direction and call of appetite. 

Though a man knew that his life must be supported by eating, 
reason could not direct him when to eat, or what; how much, 


or how often. In all these things, appetite is a much better 


guide than our reason. Were reason only to direct us in this 
matter, its calm voice would often be drowned in the hurry 


of business, or the charms of amusement. “But the voice of ap-. 


petite rises gradually, and, at last, becomes loud enough to call 

off our attention from any other employment. pad 
Every man must be convinced, that, without our appetites, 

even supposing mankind inspired with all the knowledge requi- 


site for answering their ends, the race of men must have perish- 


ae od 


Aes 


84, ESSAY LI. 


ed long ago; but, by their means, the race is continued from one 
generation to another, whether men be sayage or civilized, 
knowing or ignorant, virtuous or vicious. isd ae vo 

By the same means, every tribe of brute animals, from the 
whale that ranges the ocean to the least microscopic i sect, has 
been continued from the beginning of the world to this day ; nor 
has good evidence been found, that any one species which God 
made has perished. re ae 

Nature has given to every animal, not only an ap; Detite for its 
food, but taste and smell, by which it distinguishes the food pro-. 
per for it. if # 2} ye ei 

It is pleasant to see a caterpillar, which nature intended to 
live upon the leaf of one species of plant, travel over a hun- 
dred leaves of other kinds without tasting one, till it comes to 
that which is its natural food, which it immediately falls on, and 
devours greedily. ais say Saal Sota Seal 

Most caterpillars feed only upon the@eaf of one species of 
plant, and nature suits the season of their production to the food 
that is intended to nourish them. Many insects and animals 
have a greater variety of food; but of all animals, man has the — 
greaiest variety, being able to subsist upon almost every kind 
of vegetable or anima! food, from the bark of trees to the oil of 
whales. iat ean ths 

I believe our natural appetites may be made more violent by 
excessive indulgence, and that, on the other hand, they may be 
weakened by starving. The first is often the effect of a per- 
nicious luxury, the last may sometimes be the effect of want, 
sometimes of superstition. J apprehend that nature has given 
to our appetites that degree of strength which is most proper 
for us ; and that whatever alters their natural tone, either in ex- 
cess or in defect, does not mend the work of nature, but may 
mar and pervert it. a, MR ee 

A man may eat from appetite only. So the brutes common 


ly do. He may eat to please his taste when he has no call — 


of appetite. I believe a brute may do this also. He may-eat 
for the sake of health, when neither appetite nor taste invites. — 
This, as far as | am able to judge, brutesneverdo. 

Irom so many different principles, and from many more, the — 
same action may be done ; and this may be said of most human 
actions. From this, it appears, that very different and contrary 
theories may serve to account for the actions of men. The 
causes assigned may be sufficient to produce the effect, and yet 
not be the true causes. \ heb 

To act merely from appetite, is neither good nor ill in a mo- 
ral view. Itis neither an object of praise nor of blame. No , 
man claims any praise because he eats when he is hungry, or 


rests when he is weary. On the other hand, he is no object of ~ 


OF APPETITES. $5 


blame, if he obeys the call of appetite when there is no reason 
to hinder him. In this he acts agreeably to his nature. 

From this we may observe, that the definition of virtuous ac- 
tions, given by the ancient Stoics, and adopted by some modern 
authors, is imperfect. They defined virtuous actions to be such 
as are according to nature. What is done according to the ani- 
mal part of our nature, which is common to us with the 
brute animals, is in itself neither virtuous nor vicious, but 
perfectly indifferent. Then only it becomes vicious, when it is 
done in opposition to some principle of superior importance 
and authority. And it may be virtuous, if done for some impor- 
tant or worthy end. ; 

Appetites, considered in themselves, are neither social princi- 
ples of action, nor selfish. They cannot be called social, be- 
cause they imply no concern for the good of others. Nor can 
they justly be called selfish, though they be commonly referred 
to that class. An appetite draws us to a certain object, without 
regard to its being good for us, or ill. There is no self-love im- 
plied in it any more than benevolence. We see, that, in many 
cases, appetite may lead a man to what he knows will be to his 
hurt. To call this acting from self-love, is to pervert the mean- 
ingof words. It is evident, that in every case of this kind, self- 
love is sacrificed to appetite. 

There are some principles of the human frame very like to 
our appetites, though they do not commonly get that name. 

Men are made for labour, either of body or mind. Yet ex- 
cessive labour hurts the powers of both. ‘To prevent this hurt, 
nature has given to men, and other animals, an uneasy sensation, 
which always attends excessive labour, and which we call fa- 
iigue, weariness, lassitude. This uneasy sensation is conjoined 
with the desire of rest, or intermission of our labour. And thus 
_ nature calls us to rest when we are weary, in the same manner 
as to eat when we are hungry. i 

In both cases there is a desire of a certain object, and an un- 
easy sensation accompanying that desire. In both cases the de- 
sire is satiated by its object, and returns after certain intervals. 
In this only they differ, that in the appetites first mentioned, the 
uneasy sensation arises at intervals without action, and leads to 
a certain action: in weariness, the uneasy sensation arises from 
action too long continued, and leads to rest. 

But nature intended that we should be active, and we need 
some principle to incite us to action, when we happen not to be 
invited by any appetite or passion. £ 

For this end, when strength and spirits are recruited by rest, 
nature has made total inaction as uneasy as excessive labour. 

We may call this the principle of activity. It is most conspi- 
cuous in children, who cannot be supposed to know how useful 
and necessary it is for their improvement to be constantly em- 

VOL. Ill. 12 


 & 


4 


etl 


86 ESSAY Ili. 


ployed. Their constant activity therefore appears not to pro- 
ceed from their having some end constantly in view, but rather 

from this, that they desire to be always doing something, and 
fee] uneasiness in total inaction. 

Nor is this principle confined to childhood; it has great effects 
in advanced life. ; 

When a man has neither hope, nor fear, nor desire, nor pro- 
ject, nor employment, of body or mind, one might be apt to 
think him the happiest mortal upon earth, having nothing to do 
but enjoy himself; but we tind him, in fact, the most unhappy. 

He 1s more weary of inaction than ever he was of excessive 
labour, He is weary of the world, and of his own existence ; 
and is more miserable than the sailor wrestling with a storm, or 
the soldier mounting a breach. 

This dismal state is commonly the lot of the man who has 
neither exercise of body, nor employment of mind. For the 
mind, like water, corrupts and putrefies by stagnation, but by 
running, purifies and refines. f 

Besides the appetites which nature has given us for useful and 
necessary purposes, we may create appetites which nature never 
gave. 
~ The frequent use of things which stimulate the nervous 
system, produces a languor when their effect is gone off, and a 
desire to repeatthem. By this means a desire of a certain ob- 
ject is created, accompanied by an uneasy sensation. Bothare 
removed for a time by the object desired ; but they return after 
a certain interval. ‘This differs from natural appetite, only in 


being acquired by custom. Such are the appetites which some 
men acquire for the use of tobacco, for opiates, and for intoxi- 


cating liquors. e 
These are commonly called habits, and justly. But there 


. are different kinds of habits, even of the active sort, which 


ought to be distinguished. Some habits produce only a facility 
of doing a thing, without any inclination to do it. All arts are 
habits of this kind, but they cannot be called principles of action. , 
Other habits produce a proneness to do an action, without 
thought or intention. These we considered before as mechani- 
cal principles of action. There are other habits which produce 
a desire of a certain object, and an uneasy sensation, till it is 
obtained. It is this last kind only that I call acquired appetites. 

As it is best to preserve our natural appetites, im that tone 
and degree of strength which nature gives them, so we ought to 
beware of acquiring appetites which nature never gave. They 
are always useless, and very often hurtful. 

Although, as was before observed, there be neither virtue 
nor vice in acting from appetite, there may be much of either 
in the management of our appetites. 

When appetite is opposed by some principle drawing a con- 


aq 


OF APPETITES. 87 


ivary way, there must be a determination of the will which shall 
prevail, and this determination may be, in a moral sense, right 
or wrong. ; 

Appetite, even in a brute animal, may be restrained by a 
stronger principle opposed toit. A dog, when he is hungry and 
has meat set before him, may be kept from touching it by the 
fear of immediate punishment. In this case his fear operates 
more strongly than his desire. 

Do we attribute any virtue to the dog on this account? J 
think not. Nor should we ascribe any virtue to a man in a like 
case. The animal is carried by the strongest moving force, 
This requires no exertion, no self-government, but passively to 
yield to the strongest impulse. This, | think, brutes always do; 
therefore we attribute to them neither virtue nor vice. We 
consider them as being neither objects of moral approbation, 
nor disapprobation. 

But it may happen, that, when appetite draws one way, it may 
be opposed, not by any appetite or passion, but by some cool 
principle of action, which has authority without any impulsive 
force: for example, by some interest, which is too distant to 
raise any passion or emotion; or by some consideration of de- 
cency, or of duty. 

In cases of this kind, the man is convinced that he ought not 
to yield to appetite, yet there is not an equal or a greater 
impulse to oppose it. There are circumstances, indeed, that 
convince the judgment, but these are not sufficient to determine 
the will against a strong appetite, without self-government. 

I apprehend that brute animals have no power of self-govern- 
ment. From their constitution, they must be led by the appe- 
tite or passion which is strongest for the time. 

On this account they have, in all ages, and among all nations, 
been thought incapable of being governed by laws, though some 
of them may be subjects of discipline. 

The same would be the condition of man, if he had no power 
to restrain appetite, but by a stronger contrary appetite or pas- 
sion. It would be to no purpose to prescribe laws to him for 
the government of his actions. You might as well forbid the 
wind to blow, as forbid him to follow whatever happens to give 
the strongest present impulse. 

Every one knows, that when appetite draws one way, duty, 
decency, or even interest, may draw the contrary way; and 
that appetite may give astronger impulse than any one of these, 
or even all of them conjoined. Yet it is certain, that in every 
case of this kind, appetite ought to yield to any of these prin- 
ciples when it stands opposed to them. It is in such cases that 
self-government is necessary. ane 

The man who suffers himself to be led by appetite to do 
what he knows he ought not to do, has an immediate and natu- 


Se 


88 ESSAY fll. 


ral conviction that he did wrong, and might have done other- 
wise ; and therefore he condemns himself, and confesses that he 


. yielded to an appetite which ought to have been under his 


command. : 

Thus it appears, that though our’ natural appetites have in 
themselves neither virtue nor vice, though the acting merely 
from appetite, when there is no principle of gréater authority 
to oppose it, be a matter indifferent; yet there may be a great 


_ deal of virtue or of vice in the management of our appetites; 


and that the power of self-government is necessary for their 
regulation. 


CHAPTER II. 
OF DESIRES. 


ANOTHER class of animal principles of action in man, I 
shall, for want of a better specific name, call desires. 

They are .distinguished from appetites by this: that there is 
not an uneasy sensation proper to each, and always accompa- 
nying it; and that they are not periodical, but constant, not 
being sated with their objects for a time, as appetites are. 

The desires I have in view, are chiefly these three, the de- 
sire of power, the desire of esteem, and the desire of know- 


ledge. 


We may, I think, perceive some degree of these principles 
in brute animals of the more sagacious kind; but in man they 
are much more conspicuous, and have a larger sphere. 

Ina herd of black cattle there is a rank and subordination. 
When a stranger is introduced into the herd, he must fight every 
one till his rank is settled. Then he yields to the stronger, and 
assumes authority over the weaker. The case is much the 
same in the crew of a ship of war. 

As soon as men associate together, the desire of superiority 
discovers itself. In barbarous tribes, as well as among the gre- 
garious kinds of animals, rank is determined by strength, cou- 
rage, swiftness, or such other qualities. Among civilized na- 
tions, many things of a different kind give power and rank; _ 
places in government, titles of honour, riches, wisdom, elo- - 
quence, virtue, and even the reputation of these. All these are 
either different species of power, or means of acquiring it ; and 
when they are sought for that end, must be considered as in- 
stances of the desire of power. 

The desire of esteem is not peculiar to man. A dog exults 
in the approbation and applause of his master, and is humbled 


Se. i. x 


— 
e 


89 
ben's 
by his displeasure. But in man this desire is much more con- 
spicuous, and operates in a thousand different ways. ' 
' Hence it is that so very few are proof against flattery, when 


OF DESIRES. 


itis not very gross. We wish to be well in the opinion of - 
others, and therefore are prone to interpret in our own favour, 4 
the signs of their good opinion, even when they are ambiguous. 4 


There are few injuries that are not more easy to be borne 
than contempt. _ 

We cannot always avoid seeing, in the conduct of others, 
things that move contempt ; but in all polite circles, the signs a 
of it must be suppressed, otherwise men could not converse cs 
together. 7 

As there is no quality, common to good and bad men, more 
esteemed than courage, nor any thing in aman more the object ; 
of contempt than cowardice; hence every man desires to be 
thought a man of courage ; and the reputation of cowardice is 

“worse than death. How many have died toavoid beingthought ~~ ~~ 
cowards? How many, for the same reason, have done what a 
made them unhappy to the end of their lives. oo ae . 

I believe many a tragical event, if traced to its source inhu- = < h 
man nature, might be referred to the desire of esteem, or the 
dread of contempt. 

In brute animals there is so little that can be called knowledge, 
that the desire of it can make no considerable figure in them.) 
Yet I have seen a cat, when brought into a new habitation, exa- 
mine with care every corner of it, and anxious to know every 
lurking place, and the avenues toit. And I believe the same _ = 
thing may he observed in many other species, especially inthose — ag 
that are liable to be hunted by man, or by other animals. ” 

But the desire of knowledge in the human species, is a prin- 
ciple that cannot escape our observation. 

The curiosity of children is the principle that occupies most. 

~of their time while they are awake. What they can handle “ 
they examine on all sides, and often break in pieces; in order to | 
discover what is within. {AEE 8 pn 

When men grow up, their curiosity does not cease, but is em- 

_ ployed upon other objects. Novelty is considered as one great 
source of the pleasures of taste, and indeed is necessary, in one : ‘% 
degree or other, to give a relish to them all. "Ss 
When we speak of the desire of knowledge as a principle of 4 
_ action in man, we must not confine it to the pursuits of i 
philosopher, or of the literary man. The desire of knowledge - 
discovers itself, in one person, by an avidity to know the scandal =, 
of the village, and who makes love, and to whom ; in another, t 
to know the economy of the next family ; in another, to know ) 
What the post brings; and, in another, to trace the path of a 
new comet. 


When men show an anxiety, and take pains to know what is 


ite 


90 RSSAY Ill. 


of no moment, and can be of no use to themselves or to others, 
this is trifling, and vain curiosity. It is a culpable weakness 
and folly ; but still it is the wrong direction of a natural prin- 


ciple; and shows the force of that principle, more than when 
it is directed to matters worthy to be known. 


I think it unnecessary to use arguments to show, that the de- 


~ ciples in the constitution of man. Those who are not conyin- 


| * sires of power, of esteem, and of knowledge, are natural prin- 
Mey 
e 


ced of this by reflecting upon their own feelings and sentiments, 
will not easily be convinced by arguments. 

Power, esteem, and knowledge, are so useful for many pur- 
poses, that it is easy to resolve the desire of them into other 
principles. ‘Those who do so must maintain, that we never 
desire these objects for their own sakes, but as means only of 


_ procuring pleasure, or something which is a natural object of 


desire. This, indeed, was the doctrine of Epicurus ; and it 
has had its votaries in modern times. But it has been observed, 
that men desire posthumous fame, which can procure no plea- 
sure. 

Epicurus himself, though he believed that he should have no 
existence after death, was so desirous to be remembered with 
esteem, that, by his last will, he appointed his heirs to com- 
memorate his birth annually, and to give a monthly feast to his 
disciples, upon the twentieth day of the moon. What pleasure 
could this give to Epicurus when he had no existence? On this 
account, Cicero justly observes, that his doctrine was refuted 
by his own practice. 

nnumerable instances occur in life, of men who sacrifice 
ease, pleasure, and every thing else, to the lust of power, of 
fame, or even of knowledge. It is absurd tosuppose, that men 
should sacrifice the end to what they desire only as the means 
of promoting that end. 

The natural desires I have mentioned are, in themselves, 


neither virtuous nor vicious. They are parts of our constitu- 
\ tion, and ought to be regulated and restrained, when they stand 


\in competition with more important principles. But to eradicate 


_ them if it were possible, and I believe it is not, would only be 


like cutting off a leg or an arm, that is, making ourselves other 
creatures than God has made us. ; 

\They cannot, with propriety, be called selfish principles, 
though they have commonly been accounted such. 

When power is desired for its own sake, and not as the means 
in order to obtain something else, this desire is neither selfish 
nor social. When a man desires power as the means of doing 
good to others, this is benevolence. When he desires it only 
as the means of promoting his own good, this is self-love. But 
when he desires it for its own sake, this only can properly be 
called the desire of power: and it implies neither self-love nor 


OF DESIRES. 91 


benevolence. ‘The same thing may be applied to the desires 
of esteem and of knowledge. 

The wise intention of nature in giving us these desires, is no 
less evident than in giving our natural appetites. 

Without the natural appetites, reason, as was before observed, 
would be insufficient either for the preservation of the indivi- 
dual, or the continuation of the species; and without the 


batural desires we have mentioned, human virtue would be . 
insufficient to influence mankind to a tolerable conduct in so- 


ciety. 

To these natural desires, common to good and to bad men, 
it is owing, that a man, who has little or no regard to virtue, 
may, notwithstanding, be a good member of society. It is true, 
indeed, that perfect virtue, joined with perfect knowledge, 
would make both our appetites and desires unnecessary incum- 
brances of our nature; but as human knowledge and human 
virtue are both very imperfect, these appetites and desires are 
necessary supplements to our imperfections. 

Society, among men could not subsist without a certain de- 
gree of that regularity of conduct which virtue prescribes. To 
this regularity of conduct, men who have no virtue are induced 
by a regard to character, sometimes by a regard to interest. 

Even in those who are not destitute of virtue, a regard to 
character is often an useful auxiliary to it, when both prmeiples 
concur in their direction. 

The pursuits of power, of fame, and of knowledge, require 
self-command no less than virtue does. In our behaviour to- 
ward our fellow-creatures, they generally lead to that very con- 
duct which virtue requires. I say generally, for this, no doubt, 
admits of exceptions, especially in the case of ambition, or the 
desire of power. 


The evils which ambition has produced i in the world are a : 
common topic of declamation. But it ought to be observed, — 
that where it has led to one action hurtful to society, it has led to. . 


ten thousand that are beneficial to it. And we justly look upon 
the want of ambition as one of the most unfavourable symptoms 
in a man’s temper. 

The desires of esteem and of knowledge are highly useful to 
society, as well as the desire of power, and at the same time, 


are less dangerous in their excesses. A by 
Although actions proceeding merely from the love of power, ny 


of reputation, or of knowledge, cannot be accounted virtuous, or 
be entitled to moral approbation; yet we allow them to be 
manly, ingenuous, and suited to the dignity of human nature ; 
and therefore they are entitled to a degree of estimation, saagaer 
to those which proceed from mere appetite. 

Alexander the Great deserved that epithet in the a part of 
his life, when ease and pleasure, and every appetite, were sacri- 


‘Ate 


92 ESSAY dil. 


ficed to the love of glory and power. But when we view him 
conquered by oriental luxury, and using his power to gratify his 
passions and appetites, he sinks in our esteem, and seems to 
forfeit the title which he had acquired, 

Sardanapalus, who is said to have pursued pleasure as eargerly 
as Alexander parsued glory, never obtained from mankind the 
appellation of the Great. 

Appetite is the principle of most of the actions of brutes, and 
we account it brutal in a man to employ himself chiefly in the 
gratification of his appetites. The desires of power, of esteem, 
and of knowledge, are capital parts in the constitution of man ; 
and the actions proceeding from them, though not properly vir- 


. tuous, are human and manly ; and they claim a just superiority 


over those that proceed from appetite. This, I think, is the 
universal and unbiassed judgment of mankind. Upon what 
ground this judgment is founded, may deserve to be consiaered 


in its proper place. 


The desires we have mentioned are not only highly useful in 
society, and in their nature more noble than our appetites, they 
are likewise the most proper engines that can be used:t in the 
education and discipline of men. 

In training brute animals to such habits as they are caitvaels of, 
the fear of punishment is the chief instrument to be used. But 
in training men of ingenuous disposition, ambition to excel, and 
the loye of esteem, are much nobler and more powerful engines, 
by which they may be led to worthy conduct, and trained to 
good habits. 

“To this we may add, that the desires we have mentioned are 
very friendly to real virtue, and make it more easy to be 
acquired. 

A man that is not quite tartan must behave so in society 
as to preserve some degree of reputation. This every man 
desires to do, and the greater part actually doit. In order 
to this, he must acquire the habit of restraining his appetites and 
passions within the bounds which common decency requires, 
and so as to make himself a tolerable member of society, if not 


an useful and agreeable one. 


It cannot be doubted,.that many, froma regard to character 
and to the opinion of others, are led to make themselves both 
useful and agreeable members of society, in whom a sense of 
duty has but a small influence. 

Thus men, living in society, especially in polishes society, 
are tamed and civilized by the principles that are common to 
good and bad men. ' They are taught to bring their appetites 
and passions under due restraint before the eyes 6f men, which 
makes at more easy to bring them under the rein of virtue. 

As a horse that is broken is more easily managed than an un- 
broken colt, so the man who has undergone the discipline of 


OF DESIRES. 93. 


society is more tractable, and is in an excellent state of prepara- 
tion for the discipline of virtue ; and that self-command, which 
is necessary in the race of ambition and honour, is an attainment 
of no small importance in the course of virtue. 

For this reason, I apprehend, they err very grossly who con- 
ceive the life of a hermit to be favourable to a course of virtue. 
The hermit, no doubt, is,free from some temptations to vice, 
but he is deprived of many strong inducements to self-govern- 
ment, as well as of every opportunity of exercising the social 
virtues. 

A very ingenious author has resolved our moral sentiments 
respecting the virtues of self-government, into a regard to the 
opinion of men. This I think is giving a great deal too much 
to the love of esteem, and putting the shadow of virtue in place 
of the substance ; but that a regard to the opinion of others is, 
in most instances of our external behaviour, a great inducement 
to good conduct, cannot be doubted. For, whatever men may 
practise themselves, they will always approve of that in others 
which they think right. 

It was before observed, that, besides the appetites which 
nature has given us, we may acquire appetites which, by indul- 
gence, become as importunate as the natural. The same thing 
may be applied to desires. 

One of the most remarkable acquired desires is that of money, 
which, in commercial states, will be found in most men, in one 
degree or other, and, in some men, swallows up every other 
desire, appetite, and passion. 

The desire of money can then only be accounted a principle 
of action, when it is desired for its own sake, and not merely as 
the means of procuring something else. 

It seems evident, that there is in misers such a desire of 
money ; and, I suppose, no man will say that it is natural, or a 
part of our original constitution. It seems to be the effect of 
habit. 

In commercial nations, money is an instrument by which 
almost every thing may be procured that is desired. Being 
useful for many different purposes as the means, some men lose 
sight of the end, and terminate their desire upon the means. 
Money is also a species of power, putting a man in condition to 
do many things which he could not do without it ; and power is 
a natural object of desire, even when it is not exercised. 

In like manner, a man may acquire the desire of a title of 
honour, of an equipage, of an estate. . 

Although our natural desires are highly beneficial to society, 
and even aiding to virtue, yet acquired desires are not only 
useless, but hurtful and even disgraceful. ‘ 

No man is ashamed to own that he loves power, that he loves 
esteem, that he loves knowledge, for their ewn sake. There 

VOL. III. 13 : 


94 ESSAY III. 


may be an excess in the love of these things, which is a blemish ; 
but there is a degree of it, which is natural, and is no blemish. 
To love money, titles, or equipage, on any other account than 
as they are useful or ornamental, is allowed by all to be weak- 
ness and folly. | to a | 

The natural desires I have been considering, though they 
cannot be called social principles of action, in the common sense 
of that word, since it is not their object to procure any good or 
benefit to others, yet they have such a relation to society, as to 
show most evidently the intention of nature to be, that man 
should live in society. gat ee 

The desire of knowledge is not more natural than is the desire 
of communicating our knowledge. Even power would be less 
valued if there were no opportunity of showing it to others. It 
derives half its value from that circumstance. And as to the 
desire of esteem, it can have no possible gratification but in 
society. eh 

These parts of our constitution, therefore, are evidently 
intended for social life ; and it is not more evident that birds 
were made for flying, and fishes for swimming, than that man, 
endowed with a natural desire of power, of esteem, and of know- 
ledge, is made, not for the savage and solitary state, but for 
living in society. , 


CHAPTER II. 


a 
OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 


WE have seen how, by instinct and habit, a kind of mechanical 
principles, man, without any expense of thought, without 
deliberation or will, is led to many actions, necessary for his 
preservation and well-being, which, without those principles, all 
his skill and wisdom would not have been able to accomplish. 

It may perhaps be thought, that his deliberate and voluntary 
actions are to be guided by his reason. ret 

But it ought to be observed, that he is a voluntary agent long 
before he has the use of reason. Reason and virtue, the 
prerogatives of man, are of the latest growth. They come to 
maturity by slow degrees, and are too weak, in the greater part 
of the species, to secure the preservation of individuals and of 
communities, and to produce that varied scene of human life, in 
which they are to be exercised and improved.) == 

Therefore the wise Author of our being has implanted in ho 
man nature many inferior principles of action, which, with little 
or no aid of reason or virtue, preserve the species, and produce 


OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 95 


the various exertions, and the various changes and revolutions 
which we observe upon the theatre of life. 
_ In this busy scene, reason and virtue have access to act their 
parts, and do often produce great and good effects ; but whether 
they interpose or not, there are actors of an inferior order that 
will carry onthe play, and produce a variety of events, good or 
bad. 

Reason, if it were perfect, would lead men to use the proper 
means of preserving their own lives, and continuing their kind. 
But the Author of our being has not thought fit to leave this task to 
reason alone, otherwise the race would long ago have been ex- 
tinct. He has given us, in common with other animals, appetites, 
by which those important purposes are secured, whether men be 
wise or foolish, virtuous or vicious. 

Reason, if it were perfect, would lead men neither to lose 
the benefit of their active powers by inactivity, nor to overstrain 
them by excessive labour. But nature has givena powerful as- 
sistant to reason, by making inactivity a grievous punishment to 
itself; and by annexing the pain of lassitude to excessive labour. 

Reason, if it were perfect, would lead us to desire power, 
knowledge, and the esteem and affection of our fellow-men, as 
means of promoting our own happiness, and of being useful to 
others. Here again, nature, to supply the defects of reason, 
has given us a strong natural desire of those objects, which leads 
us to pursue them without regard to their utility. 

These principles we have already considered ; and, we may 
observe that all of them have things, not persons for their ob- 
ject. They neither imply any good nor ill affection toward any 
other person, nor even toward ourselves. They cannot there- 
fore, with propriety, be called either selfish or social. But there 
are various principles of action in man, which have persons for 
their immediate object,.and imply in their very nature, our being 
well or ill affected to some person, or, at least, to some anima- 
ted being. 

Such principles I shall call by the general name of affections ; 
whether they dispose us to do good or hurt to others. 

Perhaps in giving them this general name, I extend the mcan- 
ing of the word affection beyond its common use in discourse. 
Indeed our language seems in this to have departed a little from 
analogy: for we use the verb affect, and the participle affected, 
in an indifferent sense, so that they may be joined either with 
good orill. A man may be said to be ill affected toward another 
man, or well affected. But the word affection, which, according 
to analogy, ought to have the same latitude of signification with 
that from which it is derived, and therefore ought to be applica- 
ble to ill affections as well as to good, seems, by custom, to be 
limited to good affections. When we speak of having affection 


96 ESSAY 111. 


for any person, itis always understood to sient affec- 
tion. : ar 

Malevolent principles, such as anger, resentment, envy, ‘are 
not commonly called affections, but rather passions. — 

I take the reason of this to be, that the malevolent ffections 
are almost always accompanied with that perturbation of mind 
which we properly call passion ; and this passion, be the most 
conspicuous ingredient, gives its name to the whole. ~ 

Even love, when it goes beyond a certain degree, is cilia 
passion. But it gets not that name when it is so moderate as not 
to discompose a man’s mind, nor deprive him in any na oper rere) 
the government of himself. 

As we give the name of passion, even to bencthbett, affection 
when it is so vehement as to diseompose the mind, so, I think, 
without trespassing much against propriety of words, ‘we may 
give the name of affection even to malevolent principles, 
when unattended with that disturbance of mind which commonly, 
though not always, goes along with them, and which has made 
them get the name of passions. 

The principles which lead us immediately to desire the iio 
of others, and those that lead us to desire their hurt, agree in this, 
that persons, and not things, are their immediate object. Both 
imply our being some way affected toward the person. They 
ought therefore to have some common name to express what 
is common in their nature; and | know no name more Le 
for this than affection. 

Taking affection therefore in this extensive sense, our salee: 
tions are very naturally divided into benevolent and malevolent, 
according as they imply our being well or ill affected toward 
their object. | gia 

There are some things common to om benevolent np 
others wherein they differ. fowad vin 

They differ both in the feeling, or consults which iucitidelgrer 
dient in al) of them, and in the objects to which they: are 
directed. arid ot 

They all agree in two things, to wit, that the feeling which 
accompanies ‘them is agreeable ; and that they imply a orca of 
good and happiness to their object. Showy 8 

The affection we bear to a parent, to a child, tombénefactar, 
to a person in distress, to a mistress, differ not more m their ob- 
ject, than in the feelings they produce in the mind. » We’ have 
not names to express the differences of these feelings; but every’ 
man is conscious of a difference. Yet, with all this difference, 
they agree in being agreeable feelings; | 9) 

1 know no exception to this rule, if we distinguish, as we ought, 
the feeling which naturally and necessarily. attends the kind af- 
fection, from those which accidentally, in certain cireurnstances) 
it may produce. 


OF BENBYOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 97 


The parental affection is an agreeable feeling ; but it makes 
the misfortune or misbehaviour of a child give a deeper wound 
tothe mind. Pity is an agreeable feeling, yet distress, which 
we are not able to relieve, may give a painful sympathy. Love 
to one of the other sex is an agreeable feeling ; but where it 
does not meet with a proper return, it may give the most pun- 
gent distress. 

The joy and comfort of human life consists in the reciprocal 
exercise of kind affections, and without them life would be un- 
desirable. 

It has been observed by lord Shaftesbury, and by many other 
judicious moralists, that even the epicure and the debauchee, 
who are thought to place all their happiness in the gratifications 
of sense, and to pursue these as their only object, can find no 
relish in solitary indulgences of this kind, but in those only that 
are mixed with social intercourse, and a reciprocal exchange of 
kind affections. 

Cicero has observed, that the word convivium, which in Latin, 
signifies a feast, is not borrowed from eating or from drinking, 
but from that social intercourse which, being the chief part of 
such an entertainment, gives the name to the whole, 

Mutual kind affections are undoubtedly the balm of life, and. 
of all the enjoyments common to good and bad men, are the 
chief. If a man had no person whom he loved or esteemed, no 
person who loved or esteemed him, how wretched must his 
condition be? Surely a man capable of reflection would choose 
to pass out of existence, rather than to live in sucha state. 

lt has been,- by the poets, represented as the state of some 
bloody and barbarous tyrants ; but poets are allowed to paint a 
little beyond the life. Atreus is represented as saying, Oderini 
dum metuunt. ‘I care not for their hatred, providing they dread 
my power.” I believe there never was a man, so disposed to- 
ward all mankind. The most odious tyrant that ever was, will 
have his favourites, whose affection he endeavours to deserve. 
or to bribe, and to whom he bears some good will. 

We may therefore lay it down as a principle, that all benevo- 
lent affections are, in their nature, agreeable; and that, next to 
a good conscience, to which they are always friendly, and never 
can be adverse, they make the capital part of human happiness.. 

Another ingredient essential. to every benevolent affection, 
and from which it takes the name, is a desire of the good and 
happiness of the object. 

The object of benevolent affection, therefore, must be some 
being capable of happiness. When we speak of affection to a 
house, or to any inanimate thing, the word has a different mean- 
ing. . For that which has no capacity of enjoyment, or of suffer- 
ing, may be an object of liking or disgust, but cannot possibly 
be an object either of benevolent or malevolent affection. 


98 ESSAY lil. 


A thing may be desired either on its own account, or as the 
means in order to something else. That only can properly be 
called an object of desire, which is desired upon i own ccount ; 
and it is only such desires that I call principles o action. When 
any thing is desired as the means only, there must be an end 
for which it is desired; and the desire of the end is, in this 
case, the principle of action, The means are desired only as 
they tend to that end; and if different, or even contrary means 
tended to the same end, they would be equally desired. 

On this account I consider those affections only as benevo- 
lent, where the good of the object is desired ultimately, and not 
as the meaus only, in order to something else. 

To say that we desire the good of others, only in order to 
procure some pleasure or good to ourselves, is to say that there 
1s no benevolent affection in human nature, 

This indeed has been the opinion of some philosophers, both 
¥n ancient and in later times. [intend not to examine this opi- 
nion in this place, conceiving it proper to give that view of the 
principles of action in man, which appears to me to be just, be- 
fore ] examine the systems wherein they have been mistaken or 
misrepresented. 

I observe only at present, that it appears as unreasonable to 
resolve all our benevolent affections into self-love, as it would be 
to resolve hunger and thirst into self-love. 

These appetites are necessary forthe preservation of the indi- 
vidual. Benevolent affections are no less necessary for the 
preservation of society among men, without which man would 
become an easy prey to the beasts of the field. 

We are placed in this world, by the Author of our being, sur- 
rounded with many objects that are necessary or useful to is ns 
with many that may hurt us. Weare led not by reaso and 8 a 
love only, but by many instincts, and appetites, ae natural 
desires, to seek the former and to avoid the latter. _ 

But of all the things of this world, man may be the most | use- 
ful, or the most hurtful to man. Every man is in the power of 
every man with whom si lives. Every man has intel to do 


which 


in their power to do. 
But how shall this end, so necessary to the cena ve ul man 
society, and consequently to the existence of ‘the bima an te 


cies, be accomplished ? 

If we judge from analogy, we must conclude, ‘that ir in this, as 
in other parts of our conduct, our. rational principles a are aided 
by principles of an inferior order, similar to those by which m 
brute animals live in society with their species ; and that by 


OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 99 


means of such principles, that degree of regularity is observed, 
which we find in all societies of men, whether wise or foolish, vir- 
tuous or vicious. 

_The benevolent affections planted in human nature, appear 
therefore no less necessary for the preservation of the human 
species, than the appetites of hunger and thirst. 


CHAPTER IV. 


OF THE PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 


HAVING premised these things in general, concerning 
benevolent affections, | shall now attempt some enumeration 
of them. 

ist, The first I mention is that of parents and children, and 
other near relations. 

This we commonly call natural affection. Every language 
has a name forit. It is common to us with most of the brute 
animals; and is variously modified in different animals, accord- 
ing as it is more or less necessary for the preservation of the 
species. 

Many of the insect tribe need no other care of parents, than 
ihat the eggs be laid in a proper place, where they shall have 
neither too little nor too much heat, and where the animal, as 
soon as it is hatched, shall find its natural food. This care the 
parent takes, and no more. 

In other tribes, the young must be lodged in some secret place, 
where they cannot be easily discovered by their enemies. 
They must be cherished by the warmth of the parent’s body. 
They must be suckled, and fed at first with tender food ; attended 
in their excursions, and guarded from danger, till they have 
learned by experience, and by the example of their parents, to 
provide for their own subsistence and safety. With what 
assiduity and tender affection this is done by the parents, in 
every species that requires it, is well known. 

The eggs of the feathered tribe are commonly hatched by 
incubation of the dam, who leaves off at once her sprightly 
motions and migrations, and confines herself to her solitary and 
painful task, cheered by the song of her mate upon a neighbour- 
ing bough, and sometimes fed by him, sometimes relieved in her 
incubation, while she gathers a scanty meal, and with the 
greatest despatch returns to her post. 

_ The young birds of many species are so very tender and 
delicate, that man, with all his wisdom and experience, would 
not be able to rear one to maturity. But the parents, without 


100 ESSAY Iie 


any experience, know perfectly how to rear sometimes a Gozen 
or more at one brood, and to give every one its portion in due 
season. They know the food best suited to thsipdlelieate con- 
stitution, which is sometimes afforded by D pam ines 
must be cooked and half digested in the Pree i os parent. 

In some animals, nature has furnished the female with Sriind 
of second womb, into which the young retire occasionally, for 
food, warmth, and the conveniency of being earned about 
with the mother. 

It would be endless to recount all the various wi ys in 
which the parental affection is expressed by brute animal Si 

He must, in my apprehension, have,a very strange complexion 
of understanding, who can survey the various Ways in which 
the young of at various species are reared, without wonder, 
without pious admiration of that manifold Wisdom, vhich has 
so skilfully fitted means to ends, in such an infinite variety « of 
ways. 

es all the brute animals we are acquainted with, the end of 
the parental affection is completely answered in a short time ; 
and then it ceases as if it had never been. 

The infancy of man is longer and more helpless | than that of 
any other animal. he parental affection is necessary for 
many years; it is highly useful through life; and therefo ore. it 
terminates only with life. It extends to children’s children 
without any diminution of its force. Aa 

How common is it to see a young woman, in .the 
period of life, who has spent her days.in mirth, andher vniehein 
profound sleep, without solicitude or care, allatonce transformed 
into the careful, the solicitous, the watchful nurse of her dear 
infant ; doing nothing by day but gazing upon it, and serving it 
in the meanest offices ; ; by night, depriving herself of Baap? 
sleep for months, that it may lie safe in her arms. | _ Forge ul 
of herself, her whole care is centred in this little object. 

Such a sudden transformation of her whole habits, ci 
pation, and turn of mind, if we did not see it every day, w: oo 
appear a more eantteal metamorphosis than any that Ovi ms 


4h Wiieks 
* 


season and reflection. For we see it in the good, and ie 
bad, and in the most thoughtless, as well as in the thought ual. 
Nature has as signed different departments to the father and 
mother in rearing their offspring. This may be em 2 Bet 
brute animals ; and that it is so in the human eal 
ago observed by Socrates, and most beautifully il ake dy 
him, as we learn from Xenophon’s Oeconomick Se 
parental affection in the different sexes is. exacth ne ‘A 
the oflice assigned to each. The father would make an 
awkward nurse to a new-born child, and the mother too indul- 


- 


OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 101 


gent a guardian. But both act with propriety and grace in their 
proper sphere. ‘ ; 

It is very remarkable, that when the office of rearing a child 
is transferred from the parent to another person, nature seems 
to transfer the affection along with the office. A wet nurse, or 
even a dry nurse, has commonly the same affection for her 
nursling, as if she had borne it. The fact is so well known that 
nothing needs be said to confirm it; and it seems to be the work 
of nature. 

Our affections are not immediately in our power, as our 
outward actions are. Nature has directed them to certain ob- 
jects. We may do kind offices without affection; but we can- 
not create an affection which nature has not given. E 

Reason might teach a man that his children are particularly 
committed to his care by the providence of God, and, on that 
account, that he ought to attend to them ashis particular charge ; 
but reason could not teach him to love them more than other 
children of equal merit, or to be more afflicted for their misfor- 
tunes or misbehaviour. 

It is evident, therefore, that that peculiar sensibility of 
affection, with regard to his own children, is not the effect of 
‘reasoning or reflection, but the effect of that constitution which 
nature has given him. 

There are some affections which we may call rational, because 
ihey are grounded upon an opinion of merit in the object. The 
parental affection is not of this kind. For though a man’s 
affection to his child may be increased by merit, and diminished 
by demerit, I think no man will say, that it took its rise from an 
opinion of merit. It is not opinion that creates the affection, 
but affection often creates opinion. It is apt to pervert the 
judgment, and create an opinion of merit where there is none. 

The absolute necessity of this parental affection, in order to 
the continuance of the human species, is so apparent, that there 
is no need of arguments to prove it. The rearing of a child 
from its birth to maturity requires so much time and care, and 
such infinite attentions, that, if it were to be done merely from 
considerations of reason and duty, and were not sweetened by 
affection in parents, nurses, and guardians, there is reason to 
doubt, whether one child in ten thousand would ever be reared. 

Besides the absolute necessity of this part of the human con- 
stitution to the preservation of the species, its utility is very 
great, for tempering the giddiness and impetuosity of youth, 

‘and improving its knowledge by the prudence and experience 
of age, for encouraging industry and frugality in the parents, in 
order to provide for their children, for the solace and support 
of parents under the infirmities of oldage; not to mention that 
it probably gave rise to the first civil governments. 


It does not appear that the parental, and other family affec- 
VOL, ul. 14 


re 


ie hae TY 


102 ESSAY 11. 


tions, are, in general, either too strong or too weak, for answer- 
ing their end. If they were too weak, parents would be most 
apt to err on the side of undue severity ; if too strong, of 
undue indulgence. As they are in fact, 1 believe no man can 
say, that the errors are more general on one side than on the 
other. ; ) 
Wher these affections are exerted according to their inten- 
tion, under the direction of wisdom and prudence, the economy 
of such a family is a most delightful spectacle, and furnishes 
the most agreeable and affecting subject to the pencil of the 
painter, and to the pen of the orator and poet. d 

Qdly, The next benevolent affection 1 mention, is gratitude to 
benefactors. ; 

That good offices are, by the very constitution of our nature, 
apt to produce good will toward the benefactor, in good and 
bad men, in the savage and in the civilized, cannot surely be 
denied by any one, in the least acquainted with human nature. 

The danger of perverting a man’s judgment by good deeds, 
where he ought to have no bias, 1s so well known, that it is 
dishonourable in judges, in witnesses, in electors to offices of 
trust, to accept of them ; and, in all civilized nations, they are, 
in such cases, prohibited, as the means of corruption.  — 

Those who would corrupt the sentence of a judge, the 
testimony of a witness, or the vote of an elector, know well, 
that they must not make a bargain, or stipulate what is to be 
done in return. This would shock every man who has the 
least pretension to morals. If the person can only be prevailed 
upon to accept the good office, as a testimony of pure and 
disinterested friendship, :t is left to work upon his gratitude. 
He finds himself under a kind of moral obligation to consider 


- the cause of his benefactor and friend in the most favourable 


light. He finds it easier to justify his conduct to himself, by 
favouring the interest of his benefactor, than by opposing it. 
Thus the principle of gratitude is supposed, even in the 
nature of a bribe. Bad men know how to make this natural 
principle the most effectual means of corruption. The very 
best things may be turned to a bad use. But the natural 
tendency of this principle, and the intention of nature in 
planting it in the human breast, are, evidently, to promote good 
will among men, and to give to good offices the power of multi- 
plying their kind, like seed sown in the earth, which brings a 
return, with increase. 
Whether there be, or be not, in the more sagacious brutes, 
something that may be called gratitude, I will not dispute. We 
must allow this important difference between their gratitude 
and that of the human kind, that, in the last, the mind of the 
benefactor is chiefly regarded, in the first, the external action 
enly. A brute animal will be as kindly affected to him who 


a 


2 


OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 103 


feeds it in order to kill and eat it, as to him who does it from 
affection. 

A man may be justly entitled to our gratitude, for an office 
that is useful, though it be, at the same time, disagreeable; and 
not only for doing, but for forbearing what he had a right to do. 
Among men, it is not every beneficial office that claims our 
gratitude, bat such only as are not dae to us in justice. A 
favour alone gives a claim to gratitude; and a favour must be 
something more than justice requires. It does not appear that 
brutes have any conception of justice. They can neither 
distinguish hurt from injury, nor a favour from a good office that 
is due. 

3dly, A third natural benevolent affection is, pity and com- 
passion toward the distressed. 

Of all persons, those in distress stand most in need of our 
good offices? And for that reason, the Author of nature has 
planted in the breast of every human creature a powerful ad- 
vocate to plead their cause. 

In man and in some other animals, there are signs of distress, 
which nature has both taught them to use, and taught all men 
to understand without any interpreter. These natural signs are 
more eloquent than language ; they move our hearts, and pro- 
duce a sympathy, anda desire to give relief. a 

There are few hearts so hard, but great distress will conquer 
their anger, their indignation, and every malevolent affection. 

We sympathize even with the traitor and with the assassin, 
when we see him led to execution. It is only self-preservation, 
and the public good, that makes us reluctantly assent to his be- 
ing cut off from among men. 

The practice of the Canadian nations toward their prisoners 
would tempt one to think, that they have been able to root out 
the principle of compassion from their nature. _ But this, I ap- 
prehend, would be a rash conclusion. It is only a part of the 
prisoners of war that they devote toa cruel death. This grati- 
fies the revenge of the women and children who have lost their 
husbands and fathers in the war. The other prisoners are 
kindly used, and adopted as brethren. 

Compassion with bodily pain is no doubt weakened among 
these savages, because they are trained from their infancy to be 
superior to death, and to every degree of pain ; and he is thought 
unworthy of the name of a man, who cannot defy his tormen- 
tors, and sing his death song in the midst of the most cruel tor- 


tures. He who can do this, is honoured as a brave man, though 


an enemy. But he must perish in the experiment. 

A Canadian has the most perfect contempt for every man whe 
thinks pain an intolerable evil. And nothing is so apt to stifle 
compassion as contempt, and an apprehension that the evil suf- 
fered is nothing but what ought to be manfully borne. 


ae 
Sk wa 


1O€ ESSAY lil, 


It must also be observed, that savages set no bounds to their 
revenge. Those who find no protection in laws and government 
never think themselves safe, but in the destruction of their ene- 
my. And one of the chief advantages of civil government is, 
that it tempers the crue! passion of revenge, and opens Paaneact 
to compassion with every human wo. 

It seems to be false religion only, that is able to checks the 
tear of compassion. eo ae 

We are told, that, in Portugal and Spain, a man condemned 
to be burned as an obstinate heretic, meets with no compassion, 
even from the multitude. It is true, they are taught to look 
upon him as an enemy to God, and doomed to hell fire. But 
should not this very circumstance move compassion? Surely, 
it would, if they were not taught, that, in this case, it i isa crime 
to show compassion, or even to feel it. 

4thly, A fourth benevolent affection is, esteems#of pe wise 
and the good. way 

The worst men cannot avoid feeling this in some degree. 
Esteem, veneration, devotion, are different degrees of the same 
affection. The perfection of wisdom, power, and goodness, 
which belongs only to the Almighty, is the object of the last. 

-It may be a doubt, whether this principle of esteem, as well 
as that of gratitude, ought to be ranked in the order of animal 
principles, or if they ought not rather to be placed in a higher 
order. They are certainly more allied to the rational nature 
than the others that have been named ; nor is it evident, that 
there is any thing in brute animals that deserves the same 
name. 

There is indeed a subordination in a herd of cattle, anda ina 
flock of sheep, which, | believe, is determined by strength and 
courage, as it Is among savage tribes of men. I have been in- 
formed, that, ina pack of hounds, a stanch hound acquires a 
degree ‘of esteem in the pack ; so that, when the dogs are wan- 
dering i in quest of the scent, if he opens, the pack immediately 
closes in with him, when they would not regard the opening of 
a dog of no reputation. This is something like a ra ss to 
wisdom. 

But J have placed esteem of the wise and good in the ander 


--of animal principles, not from any persuasion that itis to be 


found in brate animals, but because, I think, it appears in the 
most unimproved and in the most degenerate part of our species, 
even in those in whom we hardly perceive any cnetany either 
of reasonor virtue. _ 

I will not, however, dispute with any man who thinks: that it 
deserves a more honourable name than that of an animal prin- 
ciple. It is of small importance what name we give it, if we 
are satisfied that there is such a principle in the human consti- 
tution. 


LL a ee 


OP PAXRVICULAR BENEVOLENT APFECTIONS. 103 


Sthly, Friendship is another benevolent affection. 

Of this we have some instances famous in history: few in- 
deed; but sufficient to show, that human nature is susceptible - 
of that extraordinary attachment, sympathy, and affection, to 
one or a few persons, which the ancients thought alone worthy 
_ of the name of friendship. — , 

The Epicureans tound it very difficult to reconcile the exist- 
ence of friendship to the principles of their sect. They were 
not so bold as to deny its existence. ‘They even boasted that 
there had been more attachments of that kind between Epicu- 
reans than in any other sect. But the difficulty was, to ac- 
count for real friendship upon Epicurean principles. They 
went into difierent hypotheses upon this point, three of which: 
are explained by Torquatus the Epicurean, in Cicero’s book, 
De Fimbus. 

Cicero, in his reply to Torquatus, examines all the three, and 
shows them all to be either inconsistent with the nature of true 
friendship, or inconsistent with the fundamental principles of 
the Epicurean sect. 

As to the friendship which the Epicureans boasted of among 
those of their sect, Cicero does not questign the fact, but ob- 
serves, that, as there are many whose practice is worse than 
their principles, so there are some whose principles, are worse 
than their practice, and that the bad principles of these Epi- 
cureans were overcome by the goodness of their nature. 

6thly, Among the benevolent affections, the, passion of love 
between the sexes cannot be overlooked. 

Although itis commonly the theme of poets, it is not unworthy 
of the pen of the philosopher, as it is a most important part of 
the human constitution. 

It isno doubt made up of various ingredients, as many other 
principles of action are, but it certainly cannot exist without a 
very strong benevolent affection toward its object; in whom it 
finds, or conceives, every thing that is amiable and excellent, 
and even something more than human, I consider it here, only 
asa benevolent affection natural to man. And that it is so, no 
man can doubt who ever felt its force. 

It is evidently intended by nature to direct a man in. the 
choice of a mate, with whom he desires to live, and to rear an 
offspring. 

It has effectually secured this end in all ages, and in every 
state of society. 

The passion of love, and the parental affection, are counter- 
parts to each other; and when they are conducted with pru- 
dence, and meet with a proper return, are the source. of all 
domestic felicity, the greatest, next to that of a good conscience, 
which this world affords. 

As, in the present state of things, pain often dwells near to 


106. ESSAY Ill. 


pleasure, and sorrow to joy, it needs not be thought strange, 
that a passion, fitted and intended by nature to yield the greatest 
worldly felicity, should, by being ill regulated, sae eere direct- 
ed, prove the occasion of the most pungent distress. — 

Bat its joys and its griefs, its different modifications in the dif- 
ferent sexes, and its influence upon the character of both, though 
very important subjects, are fitter to be sung than said ; and I 
leave them to those who have slept upon the ‘twortopped Par- 
nassus. 

7thly, The dast benevolent affection I shall thentiont is, what 
we commonly call public spirit, that is, an affection to any com- 
munity to which we belong. on 

If there be any man quite destitute of this affection: he must 
be as great a monster as a man born with two heads. Its effects 
are manifest in the whole of human life, and in the pisicnt of 
all nations. 

The situation of a great part of mankind, indeed, is such, that 
their. thoughts and views must be confined within a very narrow 
sphere, and be very much engrossed by their private concerns. 
With regard to an extensive public, such as a state or nation, 
they are like a drop to the ocean, so that they have rarely an 
opportunity of acting with a view to it. 

In many, whose actions may affect the public, and whose: Hib 
and station lead them to think of it, private passions may be an 
overmatch for public spirit. All that can be inferred from this 
is, that their public spirit is weak, not that it.does not exist. 

If a man wishes wellto the public, and is ready to do good to 
it rather than hurt, when it costs him nothing, he has some af- 
fection to it, though it may be scandalously weak in degree. © 

I believe every man has it in one degree or another. What 
man is there who does not resent satirical reflections upon me 
country, or upon any community of which he is a member? © 

Whether the affection be to a college orto a cloister, toa 
clan or to a profession, to a party or toa nation, it is public spirit. 
These affections differ not in kind, but in the extent rns 
object. 

The object extends as our Connexions extend ; ca a sense of 
the connexion carries the affection along with it to every com- 
munity to which we can apply the pronouns we and our, 

) ate 
Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace, TT ea 
His country next, and then all human race. — Pops. 


Even in the misanthrope, this affection is not AOR ched, 
It is overpowered by the apprehension he has of the worthless- 
ness, the baseness, and the ingratitude of mankind. Convince | 
him, that there is any amiable quality in the species, and im- 
mediately his philanthrophy revives, and rejoices to find an ob- 
ject on which it can exert itself. 


OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS, 107 


Public spirit has this incommon with every subordinate prin- 
ciple of action, that, when it isnot under the government of 
reason and virtue, it may produce much evil as well as good, 
Yet, where there is least of reason and virtue, to regulate it, 
its good far overbalances its ill. 

It sometimes kindles or inflames animosities between commu- 
nities, or contending parties, and makes them treat each other 
with little regard to justice. It kindles wars between nations, 
and makes them destroy one another for trifling causes. But 
without it, society could not subsist, and every community would 
be a rope of sand. 

When under the direction of reason and virtue, it is the very 
image of God in thesoul. \ It diffuses its benign influence as far 
as its power extends, and participates in the happiness of God, 
and of the whole creation. i 

These are the benevolent affections which appear to me to be 
parts of the human constitution.. 

If any one thinks the enumeration incomplete, and that there 
are natural benevolent affections, which are not included under 
any of those that have been named, I shall very readily listen 
to such a correction, being sensible, that such enumerations are | 
very often incomplete. 

If others should think that any, or all the affections I have 
named, are acquired by education, or by habits and associations 
grounded on self-love, and are not original parts of our consti- 
tution ; this is a point upon which, indeed, there has been much 
subtile disputation in ancient and modérn times, and which, I 
believe, must be determined from what a man, by careful reflec- 
tion, may feel in himself, rather than from what he observes in 
others. But! decline entering into this dispute, till I shall have 
Fane dapat that principle of action which we commonly call se/f- 

ove. 

I shall conclude this subject with some reflections upon the 
benevolent affections. 

_ The first is, that all of them, in as far as they are benevolent, 
im which view only I consider them, agree very much in the con- 
duct they dispose us to, with regard to their objects. eae 

They dispose us to do them good as far as we have power and 
opportunity ; to wish them well, when we can do them no good ; 
to judge favourably, and often partially, of them; to sympa- 
thize with them in their afflictions and calamities ; and to rejoice 
with them in their happiness and good fortune. 

It is impossible that there can be benevolent affection without 
sympathy, both with the good and bad fortune of the object ; 
and it appears to be impossible that there can be sympathy with- 
out benevolent affection. Men do not sympathize with one 
whom they hate ; nor even with one to whose. good or ill they 
are perfectly indifferent. ‘ky 


1U6 ESSAY Il. 


We may sympathize witha perfect stranger, or even with an 
enemy whom we see in distress; but this is the effect of pity; 
and if we did notipity him, we should not sympathize with him. 

I take notice of this the rather, because a very ingenious au- 
thor, in his Theory of Moral Sentiments, gives a very different 
account of the origin of sympathy. It appears tome to be the 
effect of benevolent affection, and to be inseparable from it. 

A second reflection is, that the constitution of ournature very 
powerfully invites us to cherish and cultivate in our'minds the 
benevolent affections. a rei ht dome 

The agreeable feeling which always attends them asa present 
reward, appears to be intended by nature for this purpose. — 

Benevolence, from its nature, composes the mind, warms the 
heart, enlivens the whole frame, and brightens every feature of 
the countenance. It may justly be said to be medicinal both 
to soul and body. We are bound to it by duty ; weare invited 
to it by interest ; and because both these cords are often feeble, 
we have natural kind affections to aid them ia their operation, 
and supply their defects; and these affections are joined with 
a manly pleasure in their exertion. db 

A third reflection is, that the natural benevolent affections 
furnish the most irresistible proof, that the Author of our nature 
intended that we should live in society, and do good to our fel- 
low-men as we have opportunity ; since this great andimportant 
part of the human constitution has a manifest relation to society, 
and can have no exercise nor use in a solitary state. 

The Jast reflection is, that the different principles of action 
have different degrees of dignity, and rise one above another 
in our estimation, when we make them objects of contemplation. 

We ascribe no dignity to instincts or to habits. They lead us 
only to admire the wisdom of the Creator, in adapting them so 
perfectly to the manner of life of the different animals in which 
they are found. Much the same may be said of appetites.. They 
serve rather for use than ornament. Diy via 3 Ta 

The desires of knowledge, of power, and of esteem, rise 
higher in our estimation, and we consider them as giving dignity 
and ornament to man. ~The actions proceeding from them, 
though not properly virtuous, are manly and respectable, and 
claim a just superiority over those that proceed merely from ap- 
petite. This, I think, is the uniform judgment of mankind, 

If we apply the same kind of judgment to our benevolent af- 
fections, they appear not only manly and respectable, but; amia- 
ble in a high degree. i 

They are amiable even in brute animals. We love the meek- 
ness of the lamb, the gentleness of the dove, the affection of a 
dog to his master. We cannot, without pleasure, observe the 
timid ewe, who never showed the least degree of courage in her 
own defence, become valiant and intrepid in defence of her 


OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 1Q9 


lamb, and boldly assault those enemies, the very sight of whom 
was wont to put her to flight. 

» How pleasant is it to see the family economy of a pair of little 
birds in rearing their tender offspring ; the conjugal affection and 
fidelity of the parents; their cheerful toil and industry in pro- 
viding food for their family ; their sagacity in concealing their 
habitation; the arts they use, often at the peril of their own 
lives, to decoy hawks, and other enemies, from their dwelling 
place, and the affliction they feel when some unlucky boy has 
robbed them of the dear pledges of their affection, and frustra- 
ted all their hopes of their rising family ? 

If kind affection be amiable in brutes, it is not less so in our 
own species. Even the external signs of it have a powerful 
charm. 

Every one knows that a person of accomplished good breed- 
ing, charms every one he converses with. And what is this good 
breeding? If we analyze it, we shall find it to be made up of | 
looks, gestures, and speeches, which are the natural signs of be- 
nevolence and good affection. He who has got the habit of 
using these signs with propriety, and without meanness, is a well- 
bred and polite man. 

What is that beauty in the features of the face, particularly of 
the fair sex, which all men love and admire? I believe it coa- 
sists chiefly in the features which indicate good affections. Every 
indication of meekness, gentleness, and benignity is a beauty. 
On the contrary, every feature that indicates pride, passion, 
envy, and malignity, is a deformity. 

Kind affections, therefore, are amiable in brutes. Even the 
signs and shadows of them are highly attractive in our own 
species. Indeed they are the joy and the comfort of human 
life, not to good men only, but even to the vicious.and dissolute. 

Without society, and the intercourse of kind affection, man 
isa gloomy, melancholy, and joyless being. His mind oppress- 
ed with cares and fears, he cannot enjoy the balm of sound 
sleep; in constant dread of impending danger, he starts at the 
rustling of a leaf. His ears are continually upon the stretch, 
and every zephyr brings some sound that alarms him. =~ 

When he enters into society, and feels security in the good 
affection of friends and neighbours, it is then only that his fear 
vanishes, and his mind is at ease. His courage is raised, his un- 
derstanding is enlightened, and his heart dilates with joy. 

Human society may be compared toa heap of embers, which, 
when placed asunder, can retain neither their light nor heat, 
amidst the surrounding elements; but when brought together 
they mutually give heat and light to each other; the flame breaks 
forth, and not only defends itself, but subdues every thing around 
ita» 

The security, the happiness, and the strength of human so- 

VOL. If. 15 R 


119. ESSAY LIIe 


ciety, spring solely from the reciprocal benevolent affections of 
its members. , iT remevneegey ., aacier tt ie 
The benevolent affections, though they be all honourable and 
lovely, are not all equally so. There is a subordination among 
them ; and the honour we pay to them generally corresponds 
to the extent of their object. | orborny sao be». 
The good husband, the good father, the good friend, the good 
neighbour, we honour.as a good man worthy of our love and af- 
fection. But the man in whom these more private affections 
are swallowed up in zeal for the good of his country, and of 
mankind, who goes about doing good, and seeks opportunities 
of being useful to his species, we revere as more than a good 
man, as a hero, as a good angel. FY!» darth ey 


CHAPTER V. Weer 
‘| to pa eRe 


OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 


ARE there in the constitution of man, any affections, that 
may be called malevolent ? What are they? And what is their 
use and end? ‘ ses a ah 

To me there seem to be two, which we may call by that name. 
They are emulation and resentment. _ These I take to be parts 
of the human constitution, given us by our Maker for good ends ; 
and, when properly directed and regulated, of excellent use. 
But, as their excess or abuse, to which human nature is very 
prone, is the source and spring of all the malevolence that is to 
be found among men, it is on that account I call them maleyo- 
lent. , mira bdekds 

If any man thinks that they deserve a softer name, since they 
may be exercised according to the intention of nature, without 
malevolence, to this I have no objection. etna dein 

By emulation, I mean, a desire of superiority to our rivals in 
any pursuit, accompanied with an uneasiness at being surpassed. 
~ Human life has justly been compared to a race. The prize 
is superiority in one kind or another. But the species or forms, 
if [ may use the expression, of superiority among men, are infi- 
nilely diversified. 547 nied 

There is no man so contemptible in his own eyes, as to hinder 
him from entering the lists in one form or another; and he will 
always find competitors to rival him in his own way, 

We see emulation among brute animals. Dogs and horses 
contend each with his kind in the race. Many animals of the 
gregarious kind contend for superiority in_ their flock or herd, 
and show manifest’signs of jealousy when others pretend to rival 
them. 


a 


_ QP MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 111 
} 

The emulation of the brute animals is mostly confined to 

swiftness, or strength, or favour with their females. But the - 
emulation of the humankind has a much wider field. 
» Inevery profession, and in every accomplishment of body or 
mind, real or imaginary, there are rivalships. Literary men ri- 
val one another in literary abilities. Artists in their several arts. 
The fair sex in their beauty and attractions, and in the respect 
paid them by the other sex. : 

In every political society, from a petty corporation up to the 
national administration, there is a rivalship for power and in- 
fluence. 

Men have a national desire of power, without respect to the 
power of others. This we call ambition. But the desire of su- 
periority, either in power, orin any thing we think worthy of es- 
timation, has respect to rivals, and is what we properly call emu- 
lation. 

The stronger the desire is, the more pungent will be the un- 
easiness of being found behind, and the mind will be the more 
hurt by this humiliating view. 

Emulation has a manifest tendency to improvement. With- 
out it life would stagnate, and the discoveries of art and genius 
would be at astand. This principle produces a constant fer- 
mentation in society, by which, though dregs may be produced, 
the better part is purified and exalted to a perfection, which it 
could not otherwise attain. 

We have not sufficient data for a comparison of the good and 
bad effects which this principle actually produces in society ; but 
there is ground to think of this, as of other natural principles, 
that the good overbalances theill. As far as it is under the do- 
minion of reason and virtue, its effects are always good ; when 
left to be guided by passion and folly, they are often very bad. 

‘Reason directs us to strive for superiority only in things that 
have real excellence, otherwise we spend our labour for that 
which profiteth not. To value ourselves for superiority in things 
that have no real worth, or none, compared with what they cost, 
is to be vain of our own folly ; and to be uneasy at the superi- 
ority of others in such things, is no less ridiculous. 

Reason directs us to strive for superiority only in things in our 
power, and attainable by our exertion, otherwise we shall be like 
the frog in the fable, who swelled herself till she burst, in order 
to equal the ox in magnitude. 

To check all desire of things not attainable, and every uneasy 
thought in the want of them, is an obvious dictate of prudence, 
as well as of virtue and religion. 

If emulation be regulated by such maxims of reason, and all 
undue partiality to ourselves be laid aside, it will be-a powerful 
principle of our improvement, without hurt to any other person. 


112 ESSAY Ul. 


It will give strength to the nerves, and opine to the mind, iu 
every noble and manly pursuit. ’ nett 

But dismal are its efiects, when it is notnadiiiiaimediicedint 
of reason and virtue. It has often the most malignant influence 
on men’s opinions, on their affections, and on their actions, 

It is an old observation, that affection follows opinion ; and it 
is undoubtedly true in many cases. A man cannot be grateful 
without the opinion of a favour done him. He cannot haye de- 
liberate resentment without the opinion of an injury 5 nor. es- 
teem without the opinion of some estimable quality; nor com- 
passion without the opinion of suffering. ; 

But it is no less true, that opinion sometimes SollotensiSlectlow) 
not that it ought, but that it actually does so, by giving a false 
bias to our judgment. We are apt to be partial to our friends, 
and still more to ourselves. Lote 

Hence the desire of superiority leads men to put an undue es- 
timation upon those things wherein they excel, or think they ex- 
cel. And, by this means, pride may feed itself upon the very 
dregs of human nature. 

The same desire of superiority may lead men to undervalue 
those things wherein they either despair of excelling, or care not 
to make the exertion necessary for that end. The grapes are 
sour, said the fox, when he saw them beyond his reach. The 
same principle leads men to detract from the merit of others, 
and to impute their brightest actions to mean or bad motives.» 

He who runs a race feels uneasiness at seeing another outstrip 
him. This is uncorrupted nature, and the work of God within 
him. But this uneasiness may produce either of two very differ- 
ent effects. It may incite him to make more vigorous exertions, 
and to strain every nerve to get before his rival. This is fairand 
honest emulation. | This is the effect it is intended to produce. 
But if he has not fairness and candour of heart, he will look 
with an evil eye upon his competitor, and will endeavour to trip 
him, or to throw a stumbling-block in his way. This is pure 
envy, the most malignant passion that can lodge inthe human 
breast ; which devours, as its natural food, the fame and the hap- 
piness of those who are most deserving of ouresteem.. eect 

If there be, in some men, a proneness to detract from the 
character, even of persons unknown or indifferent, in others an 
avidity to hear and to propagate scandal, to what principles in 
human nature must we ascribe these qualities? ee “the failoogs of 
others surely add nothing to our worth, nor are they, in them- 
selves, a pleasant subject of thought or of discourse. , But they 
flatter pride, by giving an opinion of our sup Cigale from 
whom we detract. a whibatred ov ct 

Is it not possible, that the same desire of superiority may hrs 
some secret influence upon those who love to display their ole 


OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. A13 


quence, in declaiming upon the corruption of human nature, and 
the wickedness, fraud, and insincerity of mankind in general? It 
ought always to be taken for granted, that the declaimer is an ex- 
eeption to the general rule, otherwise he would rather choose, 
even for his own sake, to draw a veil over the nakedness of his 
species. But, hoping that his audience will be so civil as not to 
include him in the black description, he rises superior by the 
depression of the species, and stands alone, like Noah in the 
antediluvian world. This looks like envy against the human 
race. 

It would be endless, and noways agreeable, to enumerate all 
the evils and all the vices which passion and folly beget upon emu- 
lation. Here, as in most cases, the corruption of the best things 
is the worst. In brute animals, emulation has little matter to 
work upon, and its effects, good or bad, are few. It may pro- 
duce battles of cocks, and battles of bulls, and little else that is 
observable. But in mankind, it has an infinity of matter to 
work upon, and its good or bad effects, according as it is well or 
ill regulated, and directed, multiply in proportion. 

The conclusion to be drawn from what has been said upon 
this principle is, that emulation, as far as it 1s a part of our con- 
stitution, is highly useful and important in society ; that in the 
wise and good, it produces the best effects without any harm; 
but in the foolish and vicious, it is the parent of a great part of 
the evils of life, and of the most malignant vices that stain hu- 
man nature. 

We are next to consider resentment. 

Nature disposes us, when we are hurt, to resist and retaliate. 
Besides the bodily pain occasioned by the hurt, the mind is 
ruffled, and a desire raised to retaliate upon the author of the 
hurt or injury. This, in general, is what we call anger or 
resentment. 

A very important distinction is made by bishop Butler between 
sudden resentment, which is a blind impulse arising from our 
constitution, and that which is deliberate. The first may be 
raised by hurt of any kind; but the last can only be raised by 
injury, real or conceived. 

The same distinction is made by Lord Kames in his Elements 
of Criticism. What Butler calls sudden, he calls instinctive. 

We have not, in common language, different names for these 
different kinds of resentment: but the distinction is very neces- 
sary, in order to our having just notions of this part of the human 
constitution. It corresponds perfectly with the distinction I 
have made between the animal and rational principles of action. 
For this sudden or instinctive resentment, is an animal principle 
common to us with brute animals. But that resentment which 
the authors I have named call deliberate, must fall under the: 
class of rational principles, y 


ila ; ESSAY Hil 


It is to be observed, however, that by referring it to that class, 
I do not mean, that it is always kept within the bounds that reason 
prescribes, but only that it is proper to man asa reasonable being, 
capable by his rational faculties, of distinguishing between hurt 
and injury ; a distinction which no brute animal can make. | 

Both these kinds of resentment are raised, whether the Lurt. 
or injury be done to ourselves, or to those we are interested in. 

| Wherever there is any benevolent affection toward others, we 
resent their wrongs in proportion to the strength of our affection. 
Pity and sympathy with the sufferer, produce resentment against 
the author of the suffering, as naturally as concern for ourselves 
roduces resentment of our own wrongs. heey vvy 

- [shall first consider that resentment which I call animal, which 
Butler calls sudden, and Lord Kames instinctive. 9 

In every animal to which nature has given the power of hurting 
its enemy, we see an endeavour to retaliate the ill that is done 
to it. Even a mouse will bite when it cannot run away. © 

Perhaps there may be some animals to whom nature has given 
no offensive weapon. To such, anger and resentment would be 
of no use ; and | believe we shall find, that they never show any 
sign of it. But there are few of this kind. 

Some of the more sagacious animals can be provoked to 
fierce anger, and retain it long. Many of them show great 
animosity in defending their young, who hardly show any in 
defending themselves. Others resist every assault made upon 
the flock or herd to which they belong. Bees carne —_ a 

wild beasts their den, and birds their nest. ‘ 

This sudden resentment operates in a similar manner im men 
and in brutes, and appears to be given by nature to both for the 
same end, namely, for defence, even in cases where there is'no 
. e for deliberation. » It may be compared to that natural 

stinct by which a man who has lost his balance, and begins to 
fall, makes a sudden and violent effort to recover * himself; without 
any intention or deliberation. AMON 02 

In such efforts, men often exert a degree of trae strength 
beyond what they are able to exert by a calm determination of 
the will, and thereby save themselves from many a dangerous fall. 

By a ‘like violent and sudden impulse, nature prompts us to 
repel hurt, upon the cause of it, whether it be man or beast. 
The instinct before mentioned is solely defensive, and is prompt- 
ed by fear ; this sudden resentment is offensive, and is prompted 
by anger, but with a view to defence. Beer ea lal 

Man, in his present state, is surrounded with so many dangers 
from his own species, from brute animals, from every thing 
around him, that he has need of some defensive armour that shall 
always be ready in the moment of danger. ‘His reason is of 
great use for this purpose, when there is time to apply it. But, 

’ toe 


OF MALEVOLENT -AFFECTION. 115 


in many cases, the mischief would be done before reason could 
think of the means of preventing it. ; 

The wisdom of nature has provided two means to supply this 
defect of our reason. One of these is the instinct before 
mentioned, by which the body, upon the appearance of danger, 
is instantly, and without thought or intention, put in that posture 
which is proper for preventing the danger or lessening it. ‘Thus 
we wink hard when our eyes are threatened ; we bend the body 
to avoid a stroke; we make a sudden effort to recover our 
balance when in danger of falling. By such means we are guard- 
ed from many dangers which our reason would come too late to 
prevent. 

But as offensive arms are often the surest means of defence, 
by deterring the enemy from an assault, nature has also provided 
man and other animals, with this kind of defence, by that sudden 
resentment of which we now speak, which outruns the quickest 
determinations of reason, and takes fire in an instant, threatening 
the enemy with retaliation. 

The first of these principles operates upon the defender only ; 
but this operates both upon the defender and the assailant, 
inspiring the former with courage and animosity, and striking 
terror into the latter. Jt proclaims to all assailants, what our 
ancient Scottish kings did upon their coins, by the emblem of 
a thistle, with this motto, Nemo me impune lacesset. By this, in 
innumerable cases, men and beasts are deterred from doing hurt, 
and others thereby secured from suffering it. 

But as resentment supposes an object on whom we may reta- 
liate, how comes it to pass, that in brutes very often, and some- 
times in our own species, we see it wreaked upon inanimate 
things, which are incapable of suffering by it? 

Perhaps it might be a sufficient answer to this question, that 
nature acts by general laws, which, in some particular cases, ~ 
may go beyond, or fall short of their intention, though they be 
ever so well adapted to it in general. et 

But I confess it seems to me impossible, that there should b 
resentment against a thing, which at that very moment is 
considered as inanimate, and consequently incapable either of 
intending hurt, or of being punished. For what can be more 
absurd, than to be angry with the knife for cutting me, or with 
the weight for falling upon my toes? There must therefore, I 
conceive, be some momentary notion or conception that the 
object of our resentment is capable of punishment; and if it be 
natural, before reflection, to be angry with things inanimate, it 
seems to be a necessary consequence, that it is natural to think 
that they have life and feeling. TWD 

Several phenomena in human nature lead us to conjecture, 
that, in the earliest period of life, we are apt to think every object 
about us to be animated. Judging of them by ourselves, we’ 


116. ESSAY lil. 


ascribe to them the feelings we are conscious of in cnatitine 
So we see a little girl judges of her doll and of her playthings. - 
And so we see rude nations judge of the’ err ie a of ~ 
elements, and of the sea, rivers, and fountains.) — 

If this be so, it ought not to be said, that by ea id ex- 
perience, we learn to ascribe life and intelligence to thit hich 
we before considered as inanimate. It ought: oP 
that by reason and experience we learn that certai 
inanimate, to which at first we ascribed life and i 

If this be true, it is less surprising, that, basenteaieetaalins 
should fora moment relapse into this prejudice of our early 
years, and treat things as if they had life, which we once be- 
lieved to have it. 114 STAB seer te 1? 

It does not much affect our present argument, whether this 
be, or be not the cause, why a dog pursues and gnashes at the 
stone that hurt him; and why a man ina passion, for losing at 
play, sometimes wreaks his vengeance on the cards or dice. 

It is not strange that a blind animal impulse should sometimes 
lose its proper direction. In brutes this has no bad consequence ; 
in men the least ray of reflection corrects it, and shows cepralss 
surdity. 

It is sufficiently evident, upon the whole, that this sanddens or 
animal resentment, is intended by nature for our defence. It 
prevents mischief by the fear of punishment. It is a kind of 
penal statute, promulgated by nature, the execution of whichis 
committed to the sufferer. 1H dae nTh 

It may be expected indeed, that one who judges in 1 hig: ‘own 
cause, will be disposed to seek more than an’ equitable redress. 
But this disposition is checked by the rehesaneirar the other 
party. : + eel | 

Yet, in the state of nature, injuries once bien will often be 
réciprocated between the parties, until mortal enmity is produ- 
ced, and each party thinks himself safe only in the destruction of 
his enemy. Ms ad | Se 

This right of redressing and punishing our bimaiivhrotie: so 
apt to be abused, is one of those natural rights, which, in poli- 
tical society, is given up to the laws, and to the civil magistrate ; 
and. this indeed is one of the capital advantages we reap from 
the political union, that the evils arising from ungoverned resent- 
ment are in a great degree prevented. 02 a ah ® 

Although deliberate resentment does not properly ‘belong to 
the.class of animal principles ; yet, as both have the same name, 
and are distinguished only by philosophers, and as in real life 
they are commonly intermixed, | shall here malceiperee: remarks 
upon it. | “hi a , 

A small degree of reason and refleciion coxgnaln man that 
‘injury only, and not mere hurt, is a just object of resentment to 
a rational creature. A man may suffer grievously by the hand 


OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 117 


of another, not only without injury, but with the most friendly 
intention ; as in the case of a painful chirurgical operation. 
Every man of common sense sees, that to resent such suffering, 
is not the.part of a man, but of a brute. 

Mr. Locke mentions a gentleman who, having been cured of 
madness by a very harsh and offensive operation, with great 
sense of gratitude, owned the cure as the greatest obligation he 
could have received, but could never bear the sight of the ope- 
rator, because it brought back the idea of that agony which he 
had endured from his hands. 

In this case we see distinctly the operation both of the ani- 
mal, and of the rational principle. The first produced an aver- 
sion to the operator, which reason was not able to overcome; 
and probably in a weak mind, might have produced lasting re-- 
sentment and hatred. But, in this gentleman, reason so far pre- 
vailed, as to make him sensible that gratitude, and not resent- 
ment, was due. : 

Suffering may give a bias to the judgment, and make us ap- 
prehend injury where no injury isdone. But, I think, without 
an apprehension of injury, there can be no deliberate resent- 
ment. 

Hence, among enlightened nations, hostile armies fight with- 
out anger or resentment. ‘The vanquished are not treated as 
offenders, but as brave men who have fought for their country 
unsuccessfully, and who are entitled to every office of humanity 
consistent with the safety of the conquerors. 

If we analyze that deliberate resentment which is proper to 
rational creatures, we shall find, that though it agrees with that 
which is merely animal in some respects, it differs in others. 
Both are accompanied with an uneasy sensation, which disturbs 
the peace of the mind. Both prompt/us to seek redress of our 
sufferings, and security from harm. But, in deliberate resent- 
ment, there must be an opinion of injury done or intended. 
And an opinion of injury implies an idea of justice, and conse 
quently a moral faculty. - 

The very notion of an injury is, that itis less than we may 
justly claim; as, on the contrary, the notion of a favour is, that 
itis more than we can justly claim. Whence it is evident, that 
justice is the standard, by which both a favour and an injury are 
to be weighed and estimated. Their very nature and definition 
consist in their exceeding or falling short of this standard. No 
man, therefore, can have the idea either of a favour or of an 
injury, who has not the idea of justice. ma 

That very idea of justice which enters into cool and delibe 
rate resentment, tends to restrain its excesses. For as there js 
injustice in doing an injury, so there is injustice in punishing it 
beyond measure. 

Toa man of candourand reflection, consciousness of the frailty 

VOL. Ul. 16 | 


118 ESSAY III. 


of human nature, and that he has often stood in need of forgive- 
ness himself, the pleasure of renewing good understanding, after 
it has been interrupted, the inward approbation of a generous 
and forgiving disposition, and even the irksomeness and uneasi- 
ness of a mind ruffled by resentment, plead strongly against its 
excesses. 

_. Upon the whole, when we consider, that, on the one hand, 
every benevolent affection is pleasant in its nature, is health to 
the soul, and a cordial to the spirits; that nature has made even 
the outward expression of benevolent affections in the counte- 
nance, pleasant to every beholder, and the chief ingredient of 
beauty in the human face divine ; that, on the other hand, every 
malevolent affection, not only in its faulty excesses, but in its 
moderate degrees, is vexation and disquiet to the mind, and even 
gives deformity to the countenance ; it is evident that, by these 
‘signals, nature loudly admonishes us to use the former as our 


_ daily bread, both.for health and pleasure, but to consider the 


latter as a nauseous medicine, which is never to be taken with- 
out necessity ; and even then in no greater quantity than the 
necessity requires. 


— 
- CHAPTER VI. 
OF PASSION. 


BEFORE I proceed to consider the rational principles of 
action, it is proper to observe, that there are some things be- 
longing to the mind, which have great influence upon human 
conduct, by exciting or allaying, inflaming or cooling the animal 
principles we have mentioned. 
_ Three of this kind deserve particular consideration. I shall 
call them by the names of passion, disposition, and opmion. 

The meaning of the word passvon is not precisely ascertained, 
either in common discourse, or in the writings of philosophers. 

I think it is commonly put to signify some agitation of mind, 
which is opposed to that state of tranquillity and composure, in © — 
which a man is most master of himself. 

The word a6, which answers to it in the Greek language, 
is, by Cicero, rendered by the word perturbatio. 

It has always been conceived to bear analogy to a storm at 
sea, or to a tempestin the air. It does not therefore signify any 

“hing in the mind that is constant and permanent, but something 
that is occasional, and has a limited duration, like a storm or 
tempest. 

Passion commonly produces sensible effects even upon the 
body. Itchanges the voice, the features, andthe gesture. The 


OF PASSION. 119 


external signs of passion have, in some cases, a great resem- 
blance to those of madness; in others, to those of melancholy. 
It gives often a degree of muscular force and agility to the body, 
far beyond what it possesses in calm moments. 

The effects of passion upon the mind are not less remarkable. 
It turns the thoughts involuntarily to the objects related to it, 
so that a man can hardly think of any thing else. It gives often 
a strange bias to the judgment, making a man-quicksighted in 
every thing that tends to inflame his passion, and to justify it, 
but blind to every thing that tends to moderate and allay it. 
Like a magic lantern, it raises up spectres and apparitions that 
have no reality, and throws false colours upon every object. It 
can turn deformity into beauty, vice into virtue, and virtue into 
vice. 

The sentiments of a man under its influence will appear ab- 
surd and ridiculous, not only to other men, but even to himself, 
when the storm is spent, and is succeeded by a calm. Passion 
often gives a violent impulse to the will, and makes a man do what 
he knows he shall repent as long as he lives. 

That such are the effects of passion, I think, all men ‘agree: 
They have been described in lively colours by poets, orators, 
and moralists, in all ages. But men have given more attention 
to the effects of passion than to its nature; and while they have 
copiously and elegantly described the “former, they have not 
precisely defined the latter. 

The controversy between the ancient Peripatetics and the 
Stoics, with regard to the passions, was probably owing to their 
affixing different meanings to the word. ‘The one sect main- 
tained, that the passions are good, and useful parts of our con- 
stitution, while they are held under the government of reason. 
The other sect, conceiving that nothing is to be called passion 
which does not, in some degree, cloud and darken the under- 
standing, considered all passion as hostile to reason, and there- 
fore maintained, that, in the wise man, passion should have no 
existence, but be utterly exterminated. 

If both sects had agreed about the definition of passion, they 
would probably have had no difference. But while one consi- 
dered passion only as the cause of those bad effects which it often 
produces, and the other considered it as fitted by nature to pro- 
duce good effects, while itis under subjection to reason, it does 
not appear that what one sect justified, was the same thing which 
the other condemned. Both allowed that no dictate of passion 
ought to be followed in opposition to reason. . Their difference 
therefore was verbal more than real, and was owing to their 
giving different meanings to the same word. 

The precise meaning of this word seems not to be more cleatly 
ascertained among modern philosophers. 


\ 


120 ESSA¥ lil. 


Mr. Hume gives the name of passion to every principle of 
action in the human mind ; and, in consequence of this, main- 


. tains, that every man is, and ought to be led by his passions, 


soe 


and that the use of reason is to be subservient to the passions. 

Dr. Hutcheson, considering all the principles of action as so 
many determinations, or motions of the will, divides them into 
the calm and the turbulent. The turbulent, he says, are our 
appetites and our passions. Of the passions, as well as of the 
calm determinations, he says, that ‘‘ some are benevolent, others 
are selfish ; that anger, envy, indignation, and some others, may 
be either selfish or benevolent, according as they arise from 
some opposition to our own interests, or to those of our friends, 
or persons beloved or esteemed.”’ 

{t appears, therefore, that this excellent author gives the name 

of passions, not to every principle of action, but to some, and 
to those only when they are turbulent and vehement, not when 
they are calm and deliberate. 
Our natural desires and affections may be so calm as to leave 
room for reflection, so that we find no difficulty in deliberating 
coolly, whether, in such a particular instance, they ought to be 
gratified or not. On other occasions, they may be so impor- 
~tunate as to make deliberation very difficult, urging us, by a 
kind of violence, to their immediate gratification. 

Thus, a man may be sensible of an injury without being in- 
flamed. He judges coolly of the injury, and of the proper 
means of redress. This is resentment without passion. It 
leaves to the man the entire command of himself. 

On another occasion, the same principle of resentment rises 
into a flame. His blood boils within him; his looks, his voice, 
and his gesture are changed; he can think of nothing but im- 
mediate revenge, and feels a strong impulse, without regard to 
consequences, to say and do things which his cool reason can- 
not justify. This is the passion of resentment. 

What has been said of resentment may easily be opted to 
other natural desires and affections. When they are so calm 
as neither to produce any sensible effects upon the body, nor 
to darken the understanding and weaken the power of self-com- 
mand, they are not called passions. But the same principle, 
when it becomes so violent as to produce these effects upon the 
body and upon the mind, is a passion, or, as Cicero very Let sain 
ly calls it, a perturbation. 

It is evident, that this meaning of the word passion iiords 
much better with its common use in language, than that which 
Mr. Hume gives it. 

When he says, that men ought to be governed by their pas- 
sions only, and that the use of reason is to be subservient to the — 
passions, this, at first hearing, appears a shocking paradox, re- 
pugnant to good morals and to common sense; but, like most 


OF PASSION. yay 


other paradoxes, when explained according to his meaning, it is 
nothing but an abuse of words. He) 

For if we give the name of passion to every principle of ac- 
tion, in every degree, and give the name of reason solely to the 

ower of discerning the fitness of means to ends, it will be true 
that the use of reason is to be subservient to the passions. 

As I wish to use words as agreeably as possible to their com- 
mon use in language, I shall, by the word passion mean, not any 
principle of action distinct from those desires apd affections be- 
fore explained, but such a degree of vehemence in them, or in 
any of them, as is apt to produce those effects upon the body or 
upon the mind which have been above described. __ 

Our appetites, even when vehement, are not, I think, very 
commonly called passions, yet they are capable of being enflam- 
ed to rage, and in that case their effects are very similar to those 
of the passions; and what is said of one may be applied to 
both. 

‘Having explained what I mean by passions, I think it unne- 


cessary to enter into any enumeration of them, since they dif-_ 


fer, not in kind, but rather in degree, from the principles already 
enumerated. 

The common division of the passions into desire and aversion, 
hope and fear, joy and grief, has been mentioned almost by every 
author who has treated of them, and needs no explication. 
But we may observe, that these are ingredients or modifications, 
not of the passions only, but of every principle of action, ani- 
mal and rational. 


All of them imply the desire of some object ; and the desire 


of an object cannot be without aversion to its contrary ; and, 
according as the object is present or absent, desire and aversion 
will be variously modified into joy or grief, hope or fear. It is 
evident, that desire and aversion, joy and grief, hope and fear, 
may be either calm and sedate, or vehement and passionate. 

_ Passing these, therefore, as common to all principles of action, 
whether calm or vehement, 1 shall only make some observations 
on passion in general, which tend to show its influence on hu- 
man conduct. ; 

First, \t is passion that makes us liable to strong temptations. 

Indeed, if we had no passions, we should hardly be under any 
temptation to wrongconduct. For, when we view things calmly, 
and free from any of the false colours which. passion throws 
upon them, we can hardly fail to see the right and the wrong, 
and to see that the first is more eligible than the last. 

I believe a cool and deliberate preference of ill to good is 
never the first step into vice. 

“ When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and 
that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make 


one wise, she took of the fruit thereof and did eat, and gave | 


~ 


422 ESSAY LL. 


also to her husband with her, and he did eat; andthe eyes of 
them both were opened.” Inflamed desire had blinded the 


eyes of their understanding. 


Fix’d on the fruit she gazed, which to behold 

Might tempt alone ; and in her ears the sound 

Yet rung of his persuasive words impregn’d 

With reason to her seeming, and with truth. 

——Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, 

Of virtue to make wise, what hinders then 

To reach and feed at once both body and mind. Mirt, 


Thus our first parents were tempted to disobey their Maker, 
and all their posterity are liable to temptation from the same 
cause. Passion, or violent appetite, first blinds the understand- 
ing, and then perverts the will. 

It is passion, therefore, and the vehement motions of appetite, 
that make us liable in our present state, to strong temptations to 
deviate from our duty. This is the lot of human nature in the 
' present period of our existence. 

Human virtue must gather strength by struggle and effort. 
As infants, before they can walk without stumbling, must be 
exposed to many a fall and bruise; as wrestlers acquire their 
strength and agility, by many a combat and violent exertion ; so 
it is in the noblest powers of human nature, as well as the 
meanest, and even in virtue itself. 

dt is not only made manifest by temptation and trial, but by 
these means it acquires its strength and vigour. 

Men must acquire patience by suffering, and fortitude by being 

exposed to danger, and every other virtue by situations that put 
it to trial and exercise. 

This, for any thing we know, may be necessary in the nature 
of things. It is certainly a law of nature with regard to man. 

Whether there may be orders of intelligent and moral crea- 
tures who never were subject to any temptation, nor had their — 
virtue put to any trial, we cannot without presumption deter- 
mine. But it is evident, that this neither is, nor ever was the 
Jot of man, not even in the state of innocence. 

Sad, indeed, would be the condition of man, if the tempta- 
tions to which, by the constitution of his nature, and by his cir- 
cumstances, he is liable, were irresistible. Such a state would 
not at all be a state of trial and discipline. 

Our condition here is such, that, on the one hand, passion 

- often tempts and solicits us to do wrong; on the other hand, 
reason and conscience oppose the dictates of passion. ‘The 
flesh lusteth against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh. 
And upon the issue of this conflict, the character of the man 
and his fate depend. 

If reason be victorious, his virtue is strengthened ; he has the 


OF PASSION. 123 


inward satisfaction of having fought a good fight m behalf of his 
duty, and the peace of his mind is preserved. : 

_ If, on the other hand, passion prevails against the sense of 
duty, the man is conscious of having done what he ought not, 
and might not have done. His own heart condemns him, and 
he is guilty to himself. 

This conflict between the passions of our animal nature and 

‘the calm dictates of reason and conscience, is not a theory 
invented to solve the phenomena of human conduct, it is a fact, 
of which every man who attends to his own conduct is con- 
scious. 

In the most ancient philosophy, of which we have any account, 
I mean that of the Pythagorean school, the mind of man was 
compared to a state or commonwealth, in which there are va- 
rious powers, some that ought to govern, and others that ought 
to be subordinate. Be 

The good of the whole, which is the supreme law in this, as 
in every commonwealth, requires that this subordination be 
preserved, and that the governing powers have always the as- 
cendant over the appetites and the passions. All wise and good 
conduct consists in this. All folly and vice in the prevalence 
of passion over the dictates of reason. 

This philosophy was adopted by Plato; and it isso agreeable 
to what every man feels in himself, that it must always prevail 
with men who think without bias to a system. 

The governing pewers, of which these ancient philosophers 
speak, are the same which I call the rational principles of ac- 
tion, and which I shall have occasion to explain. I only men- 
tion them here, because, without a regard to them, the influence 
of the passions, and their rank in our constitution, cannot be 
distinctly understood. 

A second observation is, that the impulse of passion is not 
always to what is bad, but very often to what is good, and what 
our reason approves. ‘There are some passions, as Dr. Hut- 
cheson observes, that are benevolent, as well as others thatare 
selfish. : 

The affections of resentment and emulation, with those that 
spring from them, from their very nature, disturb and disquiet 
the mind, though they be not carried beyond the bounds which 
reason prescribes ; and therefore they are commonly called 
passions, even in their moderate degrees. Froma similar cause, 
the benevolent affections, which are placid in their nature, and 
are rarely carried beyond the bounds of reason, are very sel- 
dom called passions. We do not give the name of passion to 
benevolence, gratitude, or friendship. Yet we must except 
from this general] rule, love between the sexes, which, as it com- 
monly discomposes the mind, and is not easily kept within rea- 
sonable bounds, is always called a passion. . 


12¢ ESSAY 11. 


All our natural desires and affections are good and necessary 
parts of our constitution ; and passion, being only a certain de- 
gree of vehemence in these, its natural tendency is to good, and 
it is by accident that it leads us wrong. 

Passion is very properly said to be blind. It looks not be- 
yond the present gratification. It belongs to reason to attend 
to the accidental circumstances which may sometimes make 
that gratification improper or hurtful. When there is no impro- 
priety in it, much more when it is our duty, passion aids reason, 
and gives additional force to its dictates. 

Sympathy with the distressed may bring them a charitable 
relief, when a calm sense of duty would be too weak to produce 
the effect. : ; 

Objects, either good or ill, conceived to be very distant, when 
they are considered coolly, have not that influence upon men 
which in reason they ought to have. Imagination, like the eye, 
diminishes its objects in proportion to their distance. The pas- 
sions of hope and fear must be raised, in order to give such 
objects their due magnitude in the imagination, and their due 
influence upon our conduct. 

The dread of disgrace and of the civil magistrate, and the 
apprehension of future punishment, prevent many crimes, which 
bad men, without these restraints, would commit, and contribute 
greatly to the peace and good order of society. 

There is no bad action which some passion may not prevent ; 
nor is there any external good action, of which some passion 
may not be the main spring; and it is very probable, that even 
the passions of men, upon the whole, do more good to society © 
than burt. - 

The ill that is done draws our attention more, and is imputed 
solely to human passions. The good may have better motives, 
and charity leads us to think that it has ; but, as we see not the 
heart, it is impossible to determine what share men’s passions 
may have in its production. 

The last observation is, that if we distinguish, in the effects 
of our passions, those which are altogether involuntary, and 
without the sphere of our power, from the effects which may 
be prevented by an exertion, perhaps a great exertion, of 
self-government; we shall find the first to be good and highly 
useful, and the last only to be bad. . 

Not to speak of the effects of moderate passions upon the 
health of the body, to which some agitation of this kind seems 
to be no less useful than storms and tempests to the salubrity of 
the air; every passion naturally draws our attention to its ob- _ 
ject, and interests us in it. ; 

The mind of man is naturally desultory, and when it has no 
interesting object in view, roves from one to another, without 
fixing its attention upon any one. A transient and careless 


OF PASSION. 725, 


glance is all that we bestow upon objects in which we take no 
concern. It requires a strong degree of curiosity, or some more 
important passion, to give us that interest in an object which is 
necessary to our giving attention toit. And, without attention, 
we can form no true and stable judgment of any object. 

Take away the passions, and itis not easy to say how great a 
part of mankind would resemble those frivolous mortals, who ne- 
ver had a thought that engaged them in good earnest. 

It is not mere judgment or intellectual ability that enables a 
man to excel in any art or science. He must have a love and 
admiration of it bordering upon enthusiasm, or a passionate de- 
sire of the fame, or of some other advantage to be got by that 
excellence. Without this, he would not undergo the labour and 
fatigue of his faculties, which it requires. So that, I think, we 
may with justice allow no small merit to the passions, even in 
the discoveries and improvements of the arts and sciences. 

If the passions for fame and distinction were extinguished, it 
would be difficult to find men ready to undertake the cares and 
toils of government ; and few perhaps would make the exertions 
necessary to raise themselves above the ignoble vulgar. 

The involuntary signs of the passions and dispositions of the 
mind, in the voice, features, and action, are a part of the human 
constitution which deserves admiration. The signification of 
those signs is known to all men by nature, and previous to all 
experience. 

They are so many openings into the souls of our fellow-men, 
by which their sentiments become visible to the eye. They are 
a natural language common to mankind, without which it would 
have been impossible to have invented any artificial language. 

It is from the natural signs of the passions and dispositions of 
the mind, that the human form derives its beauty ; that painting, 
poetry, and music, derive- their expression; that eloquence 
derives its greatest force, and conversation its greatest charm. 

The passions, when kept within their proper bounds, give life 
and vigour to the whole man. Without them man would be a 
slug. We see what polish and animation the passion of love, 
when honourable and not unsuccessful, gives to both sexes. 

The passion for military glory raises the brave commander in 
the day of battle, far above himself, making his countenance te 
shine, and his eyes tosparkle. ‘The glory of old England warms 
the heart even of the British tar, and makes him despise every 
danger. 

As to the bad effects of passion, it must be acknowledged that 
it often gives a strong impulse to what is bad, and what a man 
condemns himself for as soon as itis done. But he must be con- 
scious that the impulse, though strong, was not irresistible, other- 
wise he could not condemn himself. 

We allow that a sudden and violent passion, into which a man 

VOL. Il. 17 


126 ESSAY Ile 


is surprised, alleviates a bad action ; but if it was irresistible, 

it would not only alleviate, but totally exculpate, which it never 

does, either in the judgment of the man himself or of others. 
To sum up all, passion furnishes a very strong instance of the 


truth of the common maxim, that the corruption of the best 


things is worst. Aingtoteigiait: wo 
+. “wo deere nr 


| ce en aby or bear it 


CHAPTER VII. 


OF DISPOSITION. 


Qe 


BY disposition, 1 mean a state of mind which, while it lasts, 


—. 


gives a tendency, or proneness, to be moved by certain animal . — 


principles, rather than by others ; while, at another time, an- 
other state of mind, in the same person, may give the ascendant 
to other animal principles. » dimou 1 ints 

It was before observed, that it is a property of our appetites 
to be periodical, ceasing for a time, when sated by their objects, 
and returning regularly after certain periods. igen oti 

Even those principles which are not periodical, have their 
ebbs and flows occasionally, according to the present disposition 
of the mind. i cStat shasta 4 

Among some of the principles of action, there is a natural 
affinity, so that one of the tribe naturally disposes to those which 
are allied to it. / a) 

Such an affinity has been observed by many good authors 
to be among all the benevolent affections. The exercise of 
one benevolent affection gives a proneness to the exercise. of 
others. : 2, ik pearl beh 

There is a certain placid and agreeable tone of mind which 
is common to them all, which seems to be the bond of that con- 
nexion and affinity they have with one another. 

The malevolent affections have also an affinity, and mutually 
~-sdispose to each other, by means, perhaps, of that disagreeable 

feeling common to them all, which makes the mind sore and un- 
easy. 

Ks far as we can trace the causes of the different dispositions of 
the mind, they seem to be in some cases owing to those associating 
powers of the principles of action, which have a natural affinity, 
and are prone to keep company with one another; sometimes to 
accidents of good or bad fortune, and sometimes, no doubt, the 
state of the body may have influence upon the disposition of the 
mind. 

At one time, the state of the mind, like a serene unclounded 
sky, shows every thing in the most agreeable light. Then a 


OF DISPOSITION. FQ% 


man is prone to benevolence, compassion, and every kind affec- 
tion; unsuspicious, not easily provoked. 

The poets have observed that men have their mollia tempora 
fandi, when they are averse from*saying or doing a harsh thing ; 
and artful men watch these occasions, and know how to improve 
them to promote their ends. 

This disposition, I think, we commonly call good humour, of 
which, in the fair sex, Mr. Pope says, 


Good humour only teaches charms to last, 
Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past. 


There is no disposition more comfortable to the person him- 
self, or more agreeable to others, than good humour, It is to the 
mind, what good health is to the body, putting a man in the ca- 
pacity of enjoying every thing that is agreeable in life, and of 
using every faculty without clog or impediment. It, disposes to 
contentment with our lot, to benevolence to all men, to sympa- 
thy withthe distressed. It presents every object in the most fa- 
vourable light, and disposes us to avoid giving or taking offence. 

This happy disposition seems to be the natural fruit of a good 
conscience, and a firm belief that the world is under a wise and 
benevolent administration ; and, when it springs from this root, 
itis an habitual sentiment of piety. 

Good humour is likewise apt to be produced by happy success, ~ 
or unexpected good fortune, joy and hope are favourable to it ; 
vexation and disappointment are unfavourable. 

The only danger of this disposition seems to be, that if we 
are not upon our guard, it may degenerate into levity, and indis- 
pose us to a proper degree of caution, and of attention to the 
future consequences of our actions. 

There.is a disposition opposite to good humour, which we call 
bad humour, of which the tendency is directly contrary, and there- 
fore its influence is as malignant, as that of the other is salutary. 

Bad humour alone is sufficient to make a man unhappy ; it 
tinges every object with its own dismal colour ; and like a part 
that is galled, is hurt by every thing that touches it. It takes 
offence where none was meant, and disposes to discontent, jea- 
lousy, envy, and, in general, to malevolence. 

Another couple of opposite dispositions are elation of mind, — 
on the one hand, and depression, on the other. 

These contrary dispositions are both of an ambiguous nature ; 
their influence may be good or bad, according as they are ground- 
ed on true or false opinion, and according as they are regulated. 

That elation of mind which arises from a just sense of the 
dignity of our nature, and of the powers and faculties with 
which God has endowed us, is true magnanimity, and disposes a 


128 ESSAY Il. 


man to the noblest virtues, and the most heroic actions and enter~ 
prises. bo poeta 

There is also an elation of mind, which arises from a con- 
sciousness of our worth and integrity, such as Job felt, when he 
said, ‘“* Till ] die, I will not remove my integrity fromme. My 
righteoustiess | hold fast, and will not let it go; my heart shall 
not reproach me while I live.”” This may be called the pride of 
virtue ; but it is a noble pride. It makes a man disdain to do 
what is base or mean. ‘This is the true sense of honour. 

But there is an elation of mind arising from a vain opinion of 
our having talents, or worth, which we have not ; or from putting 
an undue value upon any of our endowments of mind, body, or 
fortune. This is pride, the parent of many odious vices ; such 
as arrogance, undue contempt of others, self- partiality, and vicious 
self-love. TREE PRIN 

The opposite disposition to elation of mind, is depression, which 
also has good or bad effects, according as itis grounded upon true 
or false opinion. VPs AS AHS 

A just sense of the weakness and imperfections of human na- 
ture, and of our own persona! faults and defects, is trué humi- 
lity. Itis not to think of ourselves above what we ought to think ; 
a most salutary and amiable disposition ; of great price in the 
sight of God andman. Nor is it inconsistent with real magna- 
nimity and greatness of soul. They may dwell together with 
great advantage and ornament to both, and be faithful monitors 
against the extremes to which each has the greatest tendency. 

But there is a depression of mind which is the opposite to 
magnanimity, which debilitates the springs of action, and freezes 
every sentiment that shou!d lead to any noble exertion or enter- 

rise. vim 
. ‘Suppose a man to have no belief of a good administration of 
the world, no conception of the dignity of virtue, no hope of 
happiness in another state. Suppose him, at the same time, in 
a state of extreme poverty and dependence, and that he has no 
bigher aim than to supply his bodily wants, or to minister to the 
pleasure, or flatter the pride, of some being as worthless as him- 
self. Is not the soul of such a man depressed as much as his 
body or his fortune? And, if fortune should smile upon him 
while he retains the same sentiments, he is only the slave of for- 
tune. His mind is depressed to the state of a brute ; and his 
human faculties serve only to make him feel that depression. 

Depression of mind may be owing to melancholy; a distemper 
of mind which proceeds from the state of the body, which 
throws a dismal gloom upon every object of thought, cuts all the 
sinews of action, and often gives rise to strange and absurd opi- 
-nions in religion, or in other interesting matters. Yet, where 
there is real worth at bottom, some rays of it will break forth 
even in this depressed state of mind. 


\ 


_ OF DISPOSITION, 129, 


A remarkable instance of this was exhibited in Mr. Simon 
Brown, a dissenting clergyman in England, who, by melancho- 
ly, was led into the belief that his rational soul had gradually 
decayed within him, and at last was totally extinct. From this 
belicf he gave up his ministeria! function, and would not even 
join with others in any act of worship, conceiving it to be a 
profanation to worship God without a soul. 
~ In this dismal state of mind, he wrote an excellent defence of 
the Christian religion, against Tindal’s Christianity as Old as the 
Creation. To the book, he prefixed an epistle dedicatory to 
Queen Caroline, wherein he mentions, ‘That he was once a 
man, but, by the immediate hand of God for his sins, his very 
thinking substance has, for more than seven years, been conti- 
nually wasting away, till itis wholly perished out of him, if it be 
not utterly come to nothing.” And, having heard of her Majes- 
ty’s eminent piety, he begs the aid of her prayers. 

The book was published after his death without the dedication, 
which, however, having been preserved in manuscript, was after- 
ward printed in the Adventurer. No. 88. 

Thus this good man, when he believed that he had no soul, 
showed a most generous and disinterested concern for those who 
had souls. 

As depression of mind may produce strange opinions espe- 
cially in the case of melancholy, so. our opinions may have a 
very considerable influence, either to elevate or to depress the 
mind, even where there is no melancholy. ae 

Suppose, on one hand, a man who believes that he is destined 
to an eternal existence; that he who made, and who governs 
the world, maketh account of him, and has furnished him with 
the means of attaining a high degree of perfection and glory. 
With this man compare, on the other hand, the man who be- 
lieves nothing at all, or who believes that his existence is only 
the play of atoms, and that, after he has been tossed about by 
blind fortune for a few years, he shall again return to nothing 
Can it be doubted, that the former opinion leads to elevation 
and greatness of mind, the Jatter to meanness and depression ? 


s 


136 ASSAY WL. 


CHAPTER. Vilkins oh . 
Lines aes - 
OF OPINION, , if yale 
jb Chae 4 

WHEN we come to explain the rational principles of action, 
it will appear, that opinion is an essential ingredient in them. 
Here we are only to consider its influence upon the animal 
principles. Some of those | have ranked in that class cannot, 
I think, exist in the human mind without it. it way. dws 

Gratitude supposes the opinion of a favour done or intended ; 
resentment the opinion of an, injury ; esteem the opinion of merit 
the passion of love supposes the nee”: of ‘uncommon —— 
and perfection in its object. r 

Although natural affection to parents, childleesy sai near pitas 
tions, is not grounded on the opinion of their merit, it is much in- 
creased by that consideration. So is every benevolent affection. 
On the contrary, real malevolence can pened exist without the 
opinion of demerit in the object. 

There is no natural desire or aversion, which may ‘ck be 
restrained by opinion. Thus, if a man were athirst, and had a 
strong desire to drink, the opinion that there was peigat in the 
cup would make him forbear. r 

It is evident, that hope and fear, which every Aiea irae 
or affection may create, depend upon the opinion of future good 
or ill. 

Thus it appears, that our passions, our dispositions, ‘nid our 
opinions, have great influence upon our animal principles, ‘to 
strengthen or weaken, to excite or restrain them ; and, by that 
means, have great influence upon human actions and characters. 

That brute animals have both passions and dispositions simi- 
lar, in many respects, to those of men, cannot be doubted. 
Whether they have opinions, is not so clear. — 1 think they have 
not, in the proper sense of the word. But, waiving all dispute 
upon this point, it will be granted, that opinion in men has ‘a 
much wider field than in brutes. No man will say, that they 
have systems of theology, morals, jurisprudence, or politics ; or 


_ that they can reason from. the laws of nature, in mechanics, 


medicine, or agriculture. 
‘They feel the evils or enjoyments that are present ; ectinibly 


_ they imagine those which experience has associated with what 


they feel. But they can take no large prospect either of the 
past or of the future, nor see through a train of consequences. 

dog may be deterred from eating what is before him, by 
the fear of immediate punishment, which he has felt on like 
occasions; but he is never deterred by the consideration of 
health, or of any distant good. 


OF OPINION. 131 


I have been credibly informed. that a monkey, having once 
been intoxicated with strong drink, in consequence of which, it 
burnt its foot in the fire, and had a severe fit of sickness, could 
never after be induced to drink any thing but pure water. 1 
believe this is the utmost pitch which the faculties of brutes 
can reach. 


From the influence of opinion upon the conduct of mankind ~ 


we may learn, that it is one of the chief instruments to be used 
in the discipline and government of men. vi 

All men, in the early part of life, must be under the discipline 
and government of parents and tutors. Men who live in soci- 
ety, must be under the government of laws and magistrates 
through life. The government of men is undoubtedly one of 
the noblest exertions of human power. And it is of great im- 
portance, that those who have any share, either in domestic or 
civil government, should know the nature of man, and how he 
is to be trained and governed. — 

Of all instruments of governments, opinion is the sweetest, 
and the most agreeable to the nature of man. Obedience that 
flows from opinion is real freedom, which every man desires. 
That which is extorted by fear of punishment, is slavery; a yoke 
which is always galling, and which every man will shake off when 
it isin his power. 

The opinions of the bulk of mankind have always been, and 
will always be, what they are taught by those whom they esteem 
to be wise and good; and, therefore, in a considerable degree, 
are in the power of those who govern them. 

Man, uncorrupted by bad habits and bad opinions, is of ali 
animals the most tractable ; corrupted by these, he is of all ani- 
mals the most untractable. 
» Lapprehend, therefore, that, if ever civil government shall b 
brought to perfection, it must be the principal care of the state 


to make good citizens by proper education, and proper instruc-___ 


tion and discipline. 

The most useful part of medicine is that which strengthens 
the constitution, and prevents diseases by good regimen ; the rest 
is somewhat like propping a ruinous fabric at great expense, and 
to little purpose. The art of government is the medicine of 
the mind, and the most useful part of it is that which prevents 
crimes and bad habits, and trains men to virtue and good habits, 
by proper education and discipline. 


The end of government is to make the society happy, which } 


can only be done by making it good and virtuous. 

That men in general will be good or bad members of society, 
according to the education and discipline by which they have 
been trained, experience may convince us. 

The present age has made great advances in the art of train- 


éuao 5 


132 BSSAY. lite 


ing men to military duty. It will not be said, that those who 
enter into that service are more tractable than their fellow-sub- 
jects of other professions. And | know not why it should be 
thought impossible to train men to equal perfection in the other 
duties of good citizens. ; hbitine 

What an immense difference is there, for the purpose of war, 
between an army properly trained, and a militia hastily drawn 
out of the multitude? What should hinder us from thinking, 
that, for every purpose of civil government, there may bea like 
difference between a civil society properly trained to virtue, good 
habits and right sentiments, and those civil societies which we 
now behold? But! fear I shall be thought to digress from my 
subject into Utopian speculation, 

To make an end of what | have to say upon the aidan prin- 
ciples of action, we may take a complex view of their effect in 
life, by supposing a being actuated by principles of no higher 

order, to have no conscience or sense of duty, only let us allow 
him that superiority of understanding, and that power of self- 
government which man actually has. Let us speculate a littie 
upon this imaginary being, and consider what conduct and tenor 
of action might be expected from him. 

It is evident he would be a very different animal from a brute, 
and perhaps not very different, in appearance, from what a “ogg 

art of mankind is. 

He would be capable of considering the distant consequences 

of his actions, and of restraining or indulging his appetites, de-~ 
sires, and affections, from the consideration of distant good or 
evil. 

He would be capable of choosing some main end of his life, 
and planning such a rule of conduct as appeared most subservi- 
ent to it. Of this we have reason to think no brute is capable. 

We can perhaps conceive such a balance of the animal 
principles of action, as, with very little self-government, might 
make aman to bea good member of society, a own eg 
and to have many amiable qualities. 

The balance of our animal principles, ahi contitnes 
what we call a man’s natural temper ; which may = good or 
bad, without regard to his virtue. 

A man in whom the benevolent affections, the wlibies of 
esteem and good humour, are naturally prevalent, who is of a 
calm and dispassionate nature, who has the good fortune to live 
with good men, and associate with good compere may 
behave properly with little effort. 

His natural temper leads him, in most cases, to todo: whit virtue 
requires. And if he happens not to be exposed to those trying 
situations, in which virtue crosses the natural bent of his temper, 
he has no ‘great temptation to act amiss. 


. 

4 

“ 
¥ 
‘ 


ey 


QR OPINION. 133 


But perhaps a happy natural temper, joined with such a 
happy situation, is more ideal than real, though no doubt some 

men make nearer approaches to it than others. 
| The temper and the situation of men is commonly such, that 
the animal principles alone, without self-government, would 
never produce any regular and consistent train of conduct. 
_ One principle crosses another. | Without self-government, 
that which is strongest at the time will prevail. And that 
which is weakest atone time may, from passion, from a 
change of disposition or of fortune, become strongest at ano- 
ther time. 

Every natural appetite, desire, and affection, has its own 
present gratification only in view. A man, therefore, who has 
no other leader than these, would be like a ship in the ocean 
without hands, which cannot be said to be destined to any port. 
He would have no character at all, but be benevolent or spite- 
ful, pleasant or morose, honest or dishonest, as the present 
wind of passion, or tide of humour moved him. 

Every man who pursues an end, be it good or bad, must be 
active when he is disposed to be indolent ; he must rein every 
passion and appetite that would lead him out of his road. 

Mortification and self-denial are found not in the paths of 
virtue only; they are “common to every road that leads to 
an end, be it ambition, or avarice, or even pleasure itself. 
Every man who maintains an uniform and consistent cha- 
racter, must sweat and toil, and often struggle with his present 
inclination. 

Yet those who steadily pursue some end in life, though they 
must often restrain their strongest desires, and practise much 
self-denial, have, upon the whole, more enjoyment than those 
who have no end at all, but to gratify the present prevailing 
inclination. 

A dog that is made for the chase, cannot enjoy the happiness 

of a dog without that exercise. Keep him within doors, feed 
him with the most delicious fare, give him all the pleasures his 
nature is capable of, he soon becomes a dull, torpid, unhappy 
animal. No enjoyment can supply the want of that employ- 
ment which nature has made his chief good. Let him hunt, 
and neither pain, nor hunger, nor fatigue, seem to be evils. 
Deprived of this exercise, he can relish nothing. Life itself 
becomes burdensome. 
_ It is no disparagement to the human kind to say, that man, as 
well as the dog, is made for hunting, and cannot be happy but in 
some vigorous pursuit. _ He has indeed nobler game to pursue 
than the dog, but he must have some pursuit, otherwise life 
stagnates, all the faculties are benumbed, the spirits flag, and 
his existence becomes an unsupportable burden. 

VOL. IIT, 18 


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ESSAY Ill. 
OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
: PART II. 


OF THE RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 


weer 
—_ 


CHAPTER I. 


THERE ARE RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION IN MAN. 


MECHANICAL principles of action produce their effect 
without any will or intention on our part. We may, by a 
voluntary effort, hinder the effect ; but if it be not hindered by 
will and effort, it is produced without them. 

Animal principles of action require intention and will in 
their operation, but not judgment. They are, by ancient 
moralists, very properly called cece cupidines, blind desires. 

Having treated of these two classes, I proceed to the third, 
the rational principles of action in man ; which have that name, 
because they can have no existence in beings not endowed with 
i ason, and, in all their exertions, require, not only intention 
and will, but judgment or reason. 

That talent which we call reason, by which men that are 
adult and of a sound mind, are distinguished from brutes, idiots, 
and infants, has, in all ages, among the learned and unlearned, 
been conceived to have two offices, to regulate our belief, and 
to regulate our actions and conduct. 

Whatever we believe, we think agreeable to reason, and, on 
that account, yield our assent to it. Whatever we disbelieve, 
we think contrary to reason, and, on that account, dissent from 
it. Reason therefore is allowed to be the principle by which 
our belief and opinions ought to be regulated. 

But reason has been no less universally conceived to be a 
principle, by which our actions ought to be regulated. 


136 PSSAY Ile 


To act reasonably, is a phrase no less common in all Jan- 
guages, than to judge reasonably. We immediately approve 
of a man’s conduct, when it appears that he had good reason 
for what he did. And every action we disapprove, we think 
unreasonable, or contrary to reasons " 418 ved 

A way of speaking so universal among men, common to the 
learned and the unlearned in all nations, and in all languages, 
must have a meaning. To suppose it to be words without 
meaning, is to treat, with undue contempt, the commom sense 
of mankind. 

Supposing this phrase to have a meaning, we may consider in 
what way reason may serve to regulate human conduct, so that 
some actions of men are to be denominated reasonable, and 
others unreasonable. ‘ 

I take it for granted, that there can be no exercise of reason 
without judgment, nor, on the other hand, any judgment of 
things abstract and general, without some degree of reason. 

If, therefore, there be any principies of action in the human 
constitution, which, in their nature, necessarily imply such 
judgment, they are the principles which we may call rational, to 
distinguish them from animal principles, which imply desire, 
and will, but not judgment. bj 

Every deliberate human action must be done either as the 
means, or as an end; as the means to some end, to which it is 
subservient, or as an end, for its own sake, and without regard. 
to any thing beyond it. ; iotyiotl fi 

That it is a part of the office of reason to determine, what 
are the proper means to any end which we desire, no man ever 
denied. But some philosophers, particularly Mr. Hume; think 
that it is no part of the office of reason to determine the ends 
we ought to pursue, or the preference due to one end above 
another. This, he thinks, is not the office of reason, but of 
taste or feeling. - ; iy hin 

If this be so, reason cannot, with any propriety, be called a 


Th, 


principle of actian. Its office can only be to minister to the 


principles of action, by discovering the means of their gratifi- 
cation. Accordingly, Mr. Hume maintains, that reason is no 
principle of action; but that it is, and ought to be, the servant 
of the passions. Hy hv 


r?ysS 


ee 


I shall endeavour to show, that, among the various ends/of 


human actions, there are some, of which, without reason, we 
could not even form a conception; and that, as soon as they 
are conceived, a regard to them is, by our constitution; not only 
a principle of action, but a leading and governing principle, to 
which all our animal principles are subordinate, and to which 
they ought to be subject. 1 dee AP Ad Bhi fo Me 


» These J shall call rational principles ; because they can exist — 


only in beings endowed with reason, and because, to act from 


OF BEGARD TO OVE GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 137 


these principles, is what has always been meant by acting 
according to reason. 

» ‘Phe ends of human actions ‘I have in view, are two, to wit, 
‘what is good for us upon the whole, and what appears to be our 
duty. They are very strictly connected, lead to the same course 
of conduct, and co-operate with each other; and, on that ac- 
count, have commonly been comprehended under one name, 
that of reason. But as they may be disjoined, and are really 
distinct principles of action, I shall consider them separately. 


CHAPTER I, 


OF REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. - 


IT will not be denied, that man, when he comes to years of 
understanding, is led by his rational nature, to form the concep- 
tion of what is good for him upon the whole. 

How early in life this general notion of good enters into the 
mind, I cannot pretend to determine. It is one of the most 
general and abstract notions we form. 

Whatever makes a'‘man more happy, or more perfect, is good, 
and is an object of desire as soon as we are capable of forming 

-the conception of it. The contrary is ill, and is an object of 
aversion. 

In the first part of life, we have many enjoyments of various 
kinds, but very similar to those of brute animals. 
~ They consist in the exercise of our senses and powers of mo- 
tion, the gratification of our appetites, and the exertions of our 
kind affections. These are chequered with many evils of pain, 
and fear, and disappointment, and sympathy with the sufferings 
of others. 
~ But the goods and evils of this period of life, are of short 
duration, and soon forgot. The mind being regardless of the 
past, and unconcerned about the future, we have then no other 
measure of good but the present desire; no other measure of 
evil but the present aversion. 

Every animal desire has some particular and present object, 
and looks not beyond‘that object to its consequences, or to the 
connexions it may have with other things. 

' The present object, which is most attractive, or excites the 
strongest desire, determines the choice, whatever be its conse- 
quences. The present evil that presses most, is avoided, though 
it should be the road toa greater good to come, or the only way 
to escape a greater evil.. This is the way in which brutes act. 
wat 33 29 


138 ‘ ESsA¥ 111. 


and the way in which men must act, till they come to the use of 
reason. ( LOOP eNSadee to cote 
As we grow up to understanding, we extend our view. 
forward and backward. We reflect upon what is past, and, by 
the lamp of experience, discern what will probably | happen in 
time to come. We find that many things which we,eagerly 
desired, were too dearly purchased; and that things grievous for 
the present, like nauseous medicines, may be salutary in the 
issue. iW DOM aseoto 
’ We learn to observe the connexions of | things, and the conse- 
quences of our actions ; and, taking an extended | view of our 


existence, past, present, and ‘future, we correct our first notions _ 


of good and ill, and form the conception of what is good or ill 
upon the wholes which must be estimated, not from the present 
feeling, or from the present animal desire or aversion, but from 
a due consideration of its consequences, contain ppopeebéhler 
during the whole of our existence. 1 a 19h91q oT 
That which, taken with all its dienhencealaia connexions and 
consequences, brings more good than ill, ib call good upon the 
whole. ‘ mm adn Hite 3% be 
That brute animals have any rahainptiel of this good, I see 
no reason to believe. And it is evident, that man Cannot haye 
the conception of ‘it, till reason be so fie advanced, that he.can 
seriously reflect upon the past, and takea prospect of the future 
part of his existence. ‘tal deol ont apd 
It appears therefore, that the very conception dif! what is good 
or ill for us upon the whole, is the offspring of reason, and can 
be only in beings endowed with reason. | And if) this conception 
give rise to any principle of action in‘man, which he had ‘not 
before, that principle may very peopenyy by called a rational 
principle of action. 26 9 shqip 
I pretend not in this to say any thing that i is new, but, wl 
reason suggested to those who first turned their attention to the 
philosophy of morals.’ I beg leave to quote one passage | from 
Cicero, in his first book of Offices ; wherein, ith his usual ele- 
gance, he expresses the substance of what I haye said. And 
there is good reason to think that Cicero borrowed. it, from 
Panetius, a Greek philosopher, whose books of Offices. are 
lost. | JW Of BHO Sak 
“Sed inter hominem et belluam:hoc anctal ‘interest, quod 
hae tantum quantum sensu movetur, ad id solum quod adest, 
quodque praesens est se accommodat, paululum-admodum sen- 
tiens preteritum aut futurum: ‘Homo autem quoniam. rationis 
est particeps, per quam consequentia cernit, causasmerum videt, 
earumque pregressus et quasi antecessiones non jignorat ; 3 Simi- 
litudines comparat, et rebus przsentibus adjun annectit 


futuras ; facile totius vite cursum videtnaskas meg; Regsadam 


preparat res necessarias.’’ Sf hat 


— 


OF REGARD TO 6UR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 139 


. bobserve, in the newt place, that as soon as we have the con- 
ception of what is good or ill for us upon the whole, we are led, 
by our constitution, to seek the good and avoid the ill; and this 
becomes, not only a principle of action, but a leading or govern- 
ing principle, to which’all our animal principles ought to be 
subordinate. Me Quid yee ted) bad aH | aime 62 
1 am very apt to think, with Dr. Price, that) in intelligent 
beings, the desire of what is good, and aversion to what is ill, is 
necessarily connected with the intelligent nature ; and that it is 
a contradiction to suppose such a being to have the notion of 
good without the desire of it, or the notion of ill without aver- 
sion to it. Perhaps there may be other necessary connexions 
between understanding and the best principles of action, which 
our faculties are too weak to discern. That they are necessa- 
rily connected in him who is perfect in understanding, we have 
good reason to believe. ; . 

To prefera greater good, though distant, to a less that is pre- 
sent ; to choose a present evil, in order to avoid a greater evil, 
orto obtain a greater good, is, inthe judgment of all men, wise 
and reasonable conduct ; and, when a man acts the contrary 
part, all men will acknowledge, that he acts foolishly and unrea- 
sonably. Nor will it be denied, that, in innumerable cases in 
common life, our animal principles draw us one way, while a 
regard to what is good on the whole, draws us the contrary way. 
Thus the flesh lusteth against the spirit, and the spirit against 
the flesh, and these two are contrary. That in every conflict of 
this kind the rational principle ought to prevail, and the animal 
to be subordinate, is too evident to need, or to admit of proof. 

Thus, I think, it appears, that to pursue what is good upon 
the whole, and to avoid what is ill upon the whole, is a rational 
principle of action, grounded upon our constitution as reason- 
able creatures. 

It appears that it is not without just cause, that this princi- 
ple of action has in all ages been called reason, in opposition to 
our animal principles, which in common language are called by 
the general name of the passions. 

The first not only operates in a calm and cool manner, like 
reason, but implies real judgment in all its operations. The 
second, to wit, the passions, are blind desires, of some particu- 
lar object, without any judgment or consideration, whether it 
be good for us upon the whole, orill. Lats 

It appears also, that the fundamental maxim of prudence and 
of all good morals, that the passions ought, in all cases, to be 
under the dominion of reason, is not only self-evident, when 
rightly understood, but is expressed according to the common 
use’and propriety of language. - | 
The contrary maxim, maintained by Mr. Hume, can only be 
defended by a gross and palpable abuse of words. For, in 


140 ESSAY Ill. P 


important part of it, by which we are able to discer 
pursue what appears to be good upon the whole. And 
including the most important part of reason under 


To judge of what is true or false in speculative points, is the 
office of speculative reason; and to judge of what is good or 
ill for us upon the whole, is the-office of practical reason. . Of 
true and false there are no degrees; but of good and «ill there 
are many degrees, and many kinds ; and men are very apt, to 
form erroneous opinions concerning them; misled by their pas- 
sions, by the authority of the multitude, and by other causes. 

Wise men, in all ages, have reckoned it achief point of -wis- _ 
dom, to make a right estimate of the goodsand evils of life. 
They have laboured to discover the errors of the multitude on 
this important point, and to warn others against them. 

The ancient moralists, though divided into sects, all agreed 
in this, that opinion has a mighty influence upon what wecom- 
monly account the goods and ills of life, to alleviate or to ag-. 
gravate them. anne La Kees 4 

The Stoics carried this so far, as to conclude that they all de- 
pended on opinion. Weta ‘Yroanfig was a favourite maxim with 
them. toa, 2 
We see, indeed, that the same station or condition of life, 
which makes one man happy, makes another miserable, and to 
a third is perfectly indifferent. _We see men miserable through 
life, from vain fears, and anxious desires, grounded solely upon 
wrong opinions. We see men wear themselves out with toil- 
some days, and sleepless nights, in pursuit of some object which 
they never attain; or which, when attained, gives little satisfac- 
tion, perhaps real disgust. - 

_ The evils of life, which every man must feel, have a,very 
different effect upon different men. What sinks one into despair 
and absolute misery, rouses the virtue and magnanimity of 
another, who bears it as the lot of humanity, and as the discipline 
of a wise and merciful Father in heaven. He rises superior to 
adversity, and is made wiser and better by it, and consequently . 
happier. as iiates! 
it is therefore of the last importance, in the conduet of life, to, 
have just opinions with respect to good and evil; andsurely itis 
the province of reason to correct wrong opinions, and to lead _ 
us into those that are just and true. 12 
Jt is true indeed, that men’s passions and appetites, too offen . 


YHE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINCIPHR. 14] 


draw them to act contrary to their cool judgment and opinion of 
what is best forthem. Video meliora proboque, deteriora, sequor, 
is the case in every wilful deviation from our true interest, and 
our duty. 

When this is the case, the man is self-condemned, he sees that 
he acted the part of a brute, when he ought to have acted the 
part of aman. He is convinced that reason ought to have re- 
strained his passion, and not to have given the rein to it. 

When he feels the bad effects of his conduct, he imputes them 
to himself, and would be stung with remorse for his folly, though 
he had no account to make toasuperior Being. He has sinned 
against himself, and brought upon his own head the punishment 
which his folly deserved. 

From this we may see, that this rational principle of a regard 
to our good upon the whole, gives us the conception of a right 
and a wrong in human conduct, at least of a wise and a foolish. 
It produces a kind of self-approbation, when the passions and 
appetites are kept in their due subjection to it; and a kind of 
remorse and compunction, when it yields to them. 

In these respects, this principle is so similar to the moral 
principle, or conscience, and so interwoven with it, that both 
are commonly comprehended under the name of reason. This | 
similarity led many of the ancient philosophers, and some among 
the moderns, to resolve conscience, ora sense of duty, entirely 
into a regard to what is good for us upon the whole. 

That they are distinct principles of action, though both lead 
to the same conduct in life, I shall have occasion to show, when 
I come to treat of conscience. 


» 


neues: 
—— 


CHAPTER Ill. 
THE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 


IT has been the opinion of the wisest men, in all ages, that 
this principle, of a regard to our good upon the whole, in a man 
duly enlightened, leads to the practice of every virtue. 

This was acknowledged, even by Epicurus ; and the best 
moralists among the ancients derived all the virtues from this 
principle. For, among them, the whole of morals was reduced 
to this question. What is the greatest good ? Or what course 
of conduct is best for us upon the whole ? 

In order to resolve this question, they divided goods into three 
classes, the goods of the body; the goods of fortune, or external 
goods ; and the goods of the mind ; meaning, by the last, wisdom 
and virtue. 

VOL. III. 19 


142 = ESSAY Ijfe 


Comparing these different classes of goods, they showed, with 
convincing evidence, that the goods of the mind are, in many 
respects, superior to those of the body and of fortune, not only 
as they have more dignity, are more durable, and less exposed 
to the strokes of fortune, but chiefly as they are the only goods 
in our power, and which depend wholly on our conduct. 

Epicurus himself maintained, that the wise man may be happy 
in the tranquillity of his mind, even when racked with pain, and 
struggling with adversity. 

They observed very justly, that the goods of fortune, and even 
those of the body, depend much on opinion; and that, when 
our opinion of them is duly corrected by reason, we shall find 
them of small value in themselves. 

How can he be happy who places his happiness in things which 
it is not in his power to attain, or in things from which, when 
attained, a fit of sickness, or a stroke of fortune, may tear him 
asunder. ie 

The value we put upon things, and our uneasiness in the want 
of them, depend upon the strength of our desires ; correét the 
desire, and the uneasiness ceases. 

_ The fear of the evils of body and of fortune, is often a greater 

evil than the things we fear. As the wise man moderates his 
desires by temperance, so, to real or imaginary dangers, he 
opposes the shield of fortitude and magnanimity, which raises 
him above himself, and makes him happy and triumphant in 
those moments wherein others are most miserable. 

These oracles of reason led the Stoics so far as to maintain, 
that all desires and fears, with regard to things not in our power, 
ought to be totally eradicated ; that virtue is the only good ; 
that what we call the goods of the body and of fortune, are really 
things indifferent, which may, according to circumstances, prove 
good or ill, and therefore have no intrinsic goodness in them- 
selves ; that’our sole business ought to be, to act our part well, 
and to do what is right, without the least concern about things 
not in our power, which we ought, with perfect acquiescence, to 
leave to the care of him who governs the world. 

This noble and elevated conception of human wisdom and 
duty was taught by Socrates, free from the extravagancies which 
the Stoics afterward joined with it. We see it in the Alcibiades 
of Plato ;, from which Juvenal has taken it in his tenth satire, 
and adorned it with the graces of poetry. 54 


Omnibus in terris que sunt a Gadibus usque 
Auroram et Gangen, pauci dignoscere possunt 
Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remota 
Erroris nebula. Quid enim ratione {imemus ? 

Aut cupimus ? Quid tam dextra pede concupis utte 
Conatus non peeniteat, votique peracti ? 

Nil ergo optabunt homines ? Si consilium vis, 
Permittes ipsis expendere numinibus, quid 


68 eS etn, ho 


THE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINGIPLE. 143 


Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris. 

Nam pro jucundis aptissima queque dabuot Dii. 

Charior est illis homo quam sibi. Nos animorum 

Impulsu, et ceca magnaque cupidine ducti, 

Conjagium petimus, partumque uxoris ; at illis 

Notum qui pueri, qualisque futura sit uxor. 

Fortem posce animum, et mortis terrore carentem, 

Qui spatium vite extremum inter munera ponat 

Nature ; qui ferre queat quoscunque labores, 

Nesciat irasci, cupiat nihil, et poticres 

HeRcuLes 2rumnas credat, savosque labores 

Et venere, et ccenis, et plumis, SaRpInaPAcr. 
Monstro quid ipse tibi possis dare. Semita certe 

Tranquille per virtutem patet unica vite. 

Nullum numen abest si sit prudentia ; sed te 

Nos facimus fortuna Deam, ceeloque locamus. 


Even Horace, in his serious moments, falls into this system. 


Nil admirari, prope res est una Numici, 
_ Solaque que possit facere et servare beatum. 


We cannot but admire the Stoical system of morals, even 
when we think, that, in some points, it went beyond the pitch of 
human nature. The virtue, the teinperance, the fortitude, and 
magnanimity of some who sincerely embraced it, amidst all the 


flattery of sovereign power and the luxury of a court, will be — 
everlasting monuments to the honour of that system, aa to the .: 


honour of human nature. 


That a due regard to what is best for us upon the whole, in 


an enlightened mind, leads to the practice of every virtue, may 
be argued from considering what we think best for those for 
whom we have the strongest affection, and whose good we tender 
as ourown. In judging for ourselves, our passions and appetites 
are apt to bias our judgment ; but when we judge for mek 
this bias is removed, and we judge impartially. 


What is it then that a wise man would wish as the creategl coo 


to a brother, a son, or a friend ? 

Is it that he may spend his life in a constant round of the 
pleasures of sense, and fare sumptuously every day? 

No, surely ; we wish him to be a man of real virtue and worth. 
We may wish for him an honourable station in life ; but only 
with this condition, that he acquit himself honourably i in it, and 
acquire just reputation, by being useful to his country and to 
mankind. We would a thousand times rather wish him honour- 
ably to undergo the labours of Hercules, than to dissolve in 
pleasure with Sardinapalus. 

Such would be the wish of every man of understanding for 
‘the friend whom he loves as his own soul. Such things, there- 
fore, he judges to be best for him upon the whole ; and if he 
judges otherwise for himself, it is only because his judgment is 
perverted by animal passions and desires. 


Whew 


~ 


yee 


~ 


% ip 


144. ESSAY 11. 


The sum of what has been said in these three chapiers 
amounts to this:  - 

There is a principle of action in men that are adult and of a 
sound mind, which, in all ages, has been called reason, and set 
in opposition to the animal principles which we call the passions. 

The ultimate object of this principle is what we judge to be 
good upon the whole. This is not the object of any of our 
animal principles, they being all directed to particular objects, 


_ without any comparison with others, or any consideration of 
their being good or ill upon the whole. 


What is good upon the whole cannot even be conceived without 
the exercise of reason, and therefore cannot be an object to 
beings that have not some degree of reason. 


As soon as we have the conception of this object, we are led, - 


by our constitution, to desire and pursue it. It justly claims a 
preference to all objects of pursuit that can come in competition 
withit. In preferring it to any gratification that opposes it, or 
in submitting to any pain or mortification which it requires, we 
act according to reason; and every such action is accompanied 


») with self-approbation, and the approbation of mankind. | The 


contrary actions are accompanied with shame and self-condem- 
nation in the agent, and with contempt in the spectator, as foolish 
and unreasonable. 

The right application of this principle to our conduct requires 
an_ extensive prospect of human life, and a correct judgment 
and estimate of its goods and evils, with respect to their intrinsic 
worth and dignity, their constancy and duration, and their 
attainableness. He must be a wise man indeed, if any such man 


~ there be, who can perceive, in every instance, or even in every 


important instance, what is best: for him upon the whole, if he 
have no other rule to direct his conduct. Anidh od gts 

However, according to the best judgment which wise men 
have been able to form, this principie leads to the practice of 
every virtue. It leads directly to thervirtues of prudence, tem-* 
perance, and fortitude.» ty 

And when we consider ourselves as social createres, whose 
happiness or misery is very much connected with that of our 
fellow-men ; when we consider, that there are many benevolent 
affections planted in our constitution, whose exertions make a 
capital part of our good and enjoyment ; from these considera- 
tions, this principle leads us also, though more indirectly, tothe 
practice of justice, humanity, and all the social virtues. 

It is true, that a regard to our own good cannot, of itself, 
produce any benevolent affection. But, if such affections be a 
part of our constitution, and if the exercise of them make a 
capital part of our happiness, a regard to our own good ought to 
lead us to cultivate and exercise them, as every benevolent 
affection makes the good of others to be our own. 


14 


CHAPTER IV. 
DEFECTS OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 


HAVING explained the nature of this principle of action, 


and shown in general the tenor of conduct to which it leads, I » 


shall conclude what relates to it, by pointing out some of its 
defects, if it be supposed, as it has been by some philosophers, to 
be the only regulating principle of human conduct. 

Upon that supposition, it would neither bea sufficiently plain 
rule of conduct, nor would it raise the human character to that 
degree of perfection of which it is capable, nor would it yield 
so much real happiness as when it is joined with another rational 
principle of action, to wit, a disinterested regard to duty. 

ist, | apprehend the greater part of mankind can neverattain 
such extensive views of human life, and so correct a judgment 
of good and ill, as the right application of this principle requires. 

The authority of the poet before quoted is of weight in this 

oint ‘Pauci dignoscere possunt vera bona, remota erroris 
nebula.” The ignorance of the bulk of mankind concurs with 
the strength of their passions, to lead them into error in this most 
important point. 


Every man, in his calm moments, wishes to know what is best — 


for him on the whole, andto doit. But the difficulty of disco- 
vering it clearly, amid such variety of opinions, and the impor- 


tunity of present desires, tempt men to give over the search, 


and to yield to the present inclination. 

Though philosophers and moralists have taken much laudable 
pains to correct the errors of mankind in this great point, their 
instructions are known to few ; they have little influence upon 


the greater part of those to whom they are known, and some- 


times little even upon the philosopher himself. 

Speculative discoveries gradually spread from the knowing to 
the ignorant, and diffuse themselves over all; so that, with re- 
gard to them, the world, it may be hoped, willfstill be growing 
wiser. But the errors of men, with regard to what is truly good 
or ill, after being discovered and refuted in every age, are still 
prevalent. 

Men stand in need of a sharper monitor to their duty than a 
dubious view of distant good.%There is reason to believe, 
that a present sense of duty bas, in many cases, a stronger influ- 
ence than the apprehension of distant good would have of itself. 
And it cannot be doubted, that a sense of guilt and demerit is a 
more pungent reprover than the bare apprehension of haying 
mistaken our true interest. ° 

The brave soldier, in exposing himself to danger and death, 


- 


<r 


i 


Fak 


146 ESSAY III. 


is animated, not by a cold computation of the good and the ill, 
but by a noble and elevated sense of military duty. 
A philosopher shows, by a copious and just induction, what is 


our real good and what our ill. But this kind of reasoning is © 


not easily apprehended by the bulk of men. It has too little 
force upon their minds to resist the sophistry of the passions. 
They are apt to think, that if such rules be good in the general, 
they may admit of particular exceptions, and that what is good 
for the greater part, may, to some persons, on oe of par. 


ticular circumstances, be ill. 


Thus, | apprehend, that, if we had no plainer rule to direct 
our conduct in life than a regard to our greatest good, the great- 
est part of mankind would be fatally misled, even by i eae 
of the road to it. 

Qdly, Though a steady pursuit of our own real good, may, in 
an enlightened mind, produce a kind of virtue which is enti- 


tled to some degree ‘of approbation, yet it‘can never produce * 


the noblest kind of virtue, which claims our highest love and 
esteem. 

We account him a wise man who is wise for himself; and, if 
he prosecutes this end through difficulties and temptations that 
lie in his way, his character is far superior to that of the man 
who, having the same end in view, 1s continually starting out 
of the road to it, from an attachment to his appetites and pas- 
sions, and doing every day what he knows-he shall cig Te- 

ent. #! 
J Yet, after all, this wise man, whose thoughts and cares are 
all centred ultimately i in himself, who indulges even his social 
affections only witha view to his own good, is not the man whom 
we cordially love and esteem. 

Like a cunning merchant, he carries his goods to the best 
market, and watches every opportunity of putting them off to 
the best account. He does well and wisely. But it is for 
himself. We owe him nothing upon this account. Even 
when he does good to others, he means only to serve himself ; 
and therefore has no just claim to their gratitude or affection. - 

This surely, if it be virtue, is not the noblest kind, but a low 
and mercenary species of it. It can neither give a noble ele- 

vation to the mind that possesses it, nor attract the esteem and 
love of others. 

Our cordial love and esteem is due only to the man axalilice 
soul is not contracted within itself, but embraces a more exten- 
sive object: who loves virtue, not for her dowry only, but for 
her own sake : whose benevolence is not selfish, but generous 
and disinterested : who, forgetful of himself, had the common 
good at heart, not as the means only, but as the end; who ab- 
hors what is base, though he wére to be a gainer by it, “and loves 
that which is right, although he should sufter by it. 


DEFECTS OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 147 


Such a man we esteem the perfect man, compared with whom, 
he who has no other aim but good to himself, is a mean and 
despicable character. 

Disinterested goodness and rectitude is the glory of the Di- 
vine Nature, without which he might be an object of fear or 
hope, but not of true devotion. And it is the image of this 
divine attribute in the human character, that is the glory of 
man. 

To serve God and be useful to mankind, without any concern 
about our own good and happiness, is, I believe, beyond the 
pitch of human nature. But to serve God and be useful to men, 
merely to obtain good to ourselves, or to avoid ill, is servility, 
and not that liberal service which true devotion and real virtue 
require. : 

3dly, Though one might be apt to think, that he has the best 
chance for happiness, who has no other end of his deliberate 
actions but his own good; yet a little consideration may_satisfy 
us of the contrary. 


A concern for our own good is not a principle that, of itself, 


gives any enjoyment. On the contrary, it is apt to fill the mind 
with fear, and care, and anxiety. And these concomitants of 
this principle, often give pain and uneasiness, that overbalance 
the good they have in view. ; 

We may here compare, in point of present happiness, two 
imaginary characters; the first, of the man who has no other 
ultimate end of his deliberate actions but his own good; and 


who has no regard to virtue or duty, but as the means to that - 


end. The second character is that of the man who is not in- 
different with regard to his own good, but has another ultimate 


end perfectly consistent with it, to wit, a disinterested love of ~ 


virtue, for its own sake, or a regard to duty as an end. 

Comparing these two characters in point of happiness, that 
Wwe may give all possible advantage to the selfish principle, we 
shall suppose the man who is actuated solely by it, to be so far 
enlightened as to see it his interest to live soberly, righteously, 
and godly in the world; and that he follows the same course of 
conduct from the motive of his own good only, which the other 
does, in a great measure, or in some measure, from a sense of 
duty and rectitude. 

We put the case so as that the difference between these two 
persons may be, not in what they do, but in the motive from 
which they do it; and, | think, there can be no doubt that he 
who acts from the noblest and most generous motive, will have 
most happiness in his conduct. shi 

The one labours only for hire, without any love to the work. 
The other loves the work, and thinks it the noblest and most 
honourable he can be employed in. ‘To the first, the mortifica- 
tion and self-denial which the course of virtue requires, is a 


*, 


oe. 


146 ESSAY lil. 


grievous task, which he submits to only through necessity. To 
the other it is victory and triumph, in the most honourable war- - 
fare. 
It ought further to be considered, that although wise men 
have concluded that virtue is the only road to happiness, this 
conclusion is founded chiefly upon the natural respect men have 
for virtue, and the good or happiness that is intrinsic to it, and - 
arises from the love of it. If we suppose a man, as we now 
do, altogether destitute of this principle, who considered virtue 
only as the means to another end, there is no reason to think 
that he would ever take it to be the road to happiness, but 
would wander for everseeking this object, where it is not to be. 
found. 
The road of duty is so plain, that the man who seeks it, with 
an upright heart, cannot greatly err from it. But the road to 
happiness, if that be supposed the only end our nature leads us 


to pursue, would be found dark and intricate, full of snares and 
_ dangers, and therefore not to be trodden without fear, and care, 
and perplexity. 


The happy man therefore is not he whose happiness is his © 
only care, but he who, with perfect resignation, leaves the care 
of his happiness to Him who made him, while he pursues with 
ardour the road of his duty. 

This gives an elevation to his mind, which is real happiness. 
Instead of care, and fear, and anxiety, and disappointment, it | 
brings joy and triumph. It gives a relish to every good we en- 
joy, and brings good out of evil. . A 

And as no man can be indifferent about his happiness, the 


_good man has the consolation to know, that he consults his hap- 
" piness most effectually, when, without any painful anxiety about. 


future events, he does his duty. . 
Thus, I think, it appears, that although a regard to our good 
upon the whole, be a rational principle in man, yet, if it be sup- 
posed the only regulating principle of our conduct, it would be 
a more uncertain rule, it would give far less perfection to the 
human character, and far less happiness, than when joined with ~ 
another rational principle, to wit, a regard to duty. s 


149 


CHAPTER V. 


@F THE NOTION OF DUTY, RECTITUDE, MORAL OBLIGATION. 


_A BEING endowed with the animal principles of action 
only, may be capable of being trained to certain purposes by 
discipline, as we see many brute animals are, but would be alto- 
gether incapable of being governed by law. 

The subject of law must have the conception of a general 
rule of conduct, which, without some degree of reason, he can- 
not have. He must likewise have a sufficient inducement to 
obey the law, even when his strongest animal desires draw him 


the contrary way. 
This inducement may be a sense of interest, or a sense of | 


duty, or both concurring. 

These are the only principles I am able to conceive which 
can reasonably induce a man to regulate all his actions accord- 
ing to a certain general rule, or law. They may therefore be 
justly called the rational principles of action, since they can 
have no place but in a being endowed with reason, and since it 
is by them only, that man is capable either of political or of 
moral government. ; 

Without them, human life would be like a ship at sea without 
hands, left to be carried by winds and tides as they happen. It 
belongs to the rational part of our nature to intend a certain 
port, as the end of the voyage of life; to take the advantage of 
winds and tides when they are favourable, and to bear up against 
them when they are unfavourable. 

-A sense of interest may induce us to do this, when a suitable 
reward is set before us. But there is a nobler principle itn the 
constitution of man, which, in many cases, gives a clearer and 
more certain rule of conduct, than a regard merely to interest 
would give, and a principle, without which man would not be 
a moral agent. , ; 

A man is prudent when he consults his real interest, but he 
cannot be virtuous, if he has no regard to duty. 

I proceed now to consider this regard to duty asa rational 
principle of action in man, and as that principle alone by 
which he is capable either,of virtue or vice. 

I shall first offer some observations with regard to the ge- 
neral notion of duty, and its contrary, or of right and wrong in 
human conduct; and then consider how we come to judge and 
determine certain things in human conduct to be right, and 
others to be wrong. 

With regard to the notion or conception of duty, I take it te 
be too simple to admit of a logical definition. 

VOL. Lt. 20 


150 ESSAY Ti. 


We can define it only by synonymous words or phrases, or by 
its properties and necessary concomitants ; as when we say that 
it is what we ought to do, what is fair and honestytvhat i is appro- 
vable, what every man professes to be the rule of his conduct, 


what all men praise, and what is in itself laudable, though no F 


man should praise it. SaLaiy 


l observe, in the next place, that the notion duty cannot © 


be resolved into that of interest, or what is most frees on 
ness. by 
Every man may be satisfied of this vibe attends to hid own 
conceptions, and the language of all mankind shows it. When 
I say this is my interest, | mean one thing; when I say it is my 


duty, | mean another thing. And though the same course of — 


action, when rightly understood, may be both my duty and my 
interest, the conceptions are very different. _ Both are reasona- 
ble motives to action, but quite distinct in their nature. 


I presume it will be granted, that in every man of real worth, 
there is a principle of honour, a regard to what is honourable or — 


dishonourable, very distinct from a regard to his interest. It 
is folly in'a man to disregard his interest, but to do whal is 
dishonourable is baseness. The first may move our pity, or, in 


‘some cases, our contempt, but the last provokes our indigna- 


tion. . 
As these two principles are different in their nature, and not 


resolvable into one, so the principle of honour is robin su- ~ 


perior in dignity to that of interest. 
No man would allow him to be a man of jaeiosity ‘who leant 


plead his interest to justify what he acknowledged to be dis- 


honourable ; but to sacrifice interest to honour never costs a 
blush. 

It likewise will be allowed by every man of Lowning that bic 
principle is not to be resolved into a regard to our reputation 
among men, otherwise the man of honour would not deserve 


to be trusted in the dark. . He would have no aversion to lie, 
er cheat, or play the coward, when he had no dread Ki si 


dicoverans 


I take it for granted, therefore, that every man of seal hationr 4 


feels an abhorrence of certain actions, because they are in them- 
selves base, and feels an obligation to certain other actions, be- 
eause they are in themselves what honour requires, and this, in- 
dependently of any consideration of interest or reputation. — 
This is an immediate moral obligation. This principle of 
honour, which is acknowledged by all men who pretend to cha- 


racter, is only another name for what we call a regard to duty, + 
to rectitude, to propriety of conduct.. It is a moral obligation — 


which obliges a man to do certain things because they are right, 
and not to do other things because they are wrong. 


Ask the man of honour, why he thinks himself pblioe to 


QF~THE NOTION OF DUTY. 151 


pay a debt of honour? The very question shocks him. Te 
suppose that he needs any other inducement to do it but the 
principle of honour, is to suppose that he has no honour, no 
worth, and deserves no esteem. 

_ There is therefore a principle in man, which, when he acts 
according to it, gives him a consciousness of worth, and when 
he acts contrary to it, a sense of demerit. 

From the varieties of education, of fashion, of prejudices, 
and of habits, men may differ much ta opinion with regard to the 
extent of this principle, and of what it commands and forbids ; 
but the notion of it, as far as it is carried, is the same in all. 
It is that which gives a man real worth, and is the object of mo- 
ral approbation. 

Men of rank call it honowr, and too often confine it to certain 

virtues that are thought most essential to their rank. The vul- 
gar Call it honesty, probity, virtue, conscience. Philosophers have 
given it the names of the moral sense, the moral faculty, rectt- 
tude. 
The universality of this principle in men that are grown up 
to years of understanding and reflection, is evident.. The words 
that express it, the names of the virtues which it commands, and 
of the vices which it forbids, the ought and ought not which ex- 
press its dictates, make an essential part of every language. 
The natural affections of respect to worthy characters, of re- 
sentment of injuries, of gratitude for favours, of indignation 
against the worthless, are parts of the human constitution which 
suppose a right anda wrong in conduct. Many transactions that 
are found necessary in the rudest societies, go upon the same 
supposition. In all testimony, in all promises, and in all con- 
tracts, there is necessarily implied a moral obligation onone 
party, and a trust in the other, grounded upon this obligation. 

The variety of opinions among men in points of morality, is 
not greater, but, as | apprehend, much less than in speculative 
points; and this variety isas easily accounted for, from the com- 
mon causes of error, in the one case as in the other; so that it 
is not more evident, that there is a real distinction between true 
and false, in matters of speculation, than that there is a real 
distinction between right and wrong in human conduct. 

Mr. Hume’s authority, if there were any need of it, is of 
weight in this matter, because he was not wont to go rashly into 
vulgar opinions. 

** Those,” says he, “who have denied the reality of moral 
distinctions, may be ranked among the disingenuous disputants, 


who really do not believe the opinions they defend, but engage — 


- in the controversy from affectation, from a spirit of opposition, 
or from a desire of showing wit and ingenuity superior to the 
rest of mankind ; nor is it conceivable, that any human creature 


152 ESSAY! III. 


could ever seriously believe, that all characters and actions were 
alike entitled 6 the regard and affection of every one. 

* Let a man’s insensibility be ever so great, he must often be 
touched with the images of right and wrong; and let his preju- 
dices be ever so obstinate, he must observe that others are sus- 
ceptible of like impressions. The only way, therefore, of con- 
vincing an antagonist of this kind, is to leave him to himself. 
For, finding that nobody keeps up the controversy with him, it 
is probable he will at last, of himself, from mere weariness, 
come over to the side of common sense and reason.” 

What we call right and honourable in human conduct was, by 
the ancients, called honestum, 7 xaaw; of which Tully says, 
“Quod vere dicimus, etiamsi a nullo landetur, mages esse lau- 
dabile.” 

- All the ancient sects, except the Epicureans, distingitiatied the 
honesium from the utile, as we distinguish what is a apntchanvared 
from what is his interest. 

The word offictum, xa6;xov, extended both to the honestum: and 
the utile: so that every reasonable action, proceeding either 
from a sense of duty or a sense of interest, was called officium. 
It is defined by Cicero to be, “Id quod cur factum sit ratio pro- 
babilis reddi potest.” We commonly render it by the word 
duty, but it is more extensive; for the word duty, in the English 
language, I think, is commonly applied only to what the ancients 
called honestum. Cicero, and Panzetius before him, treating of | 
offices, first point out those that are grounded upon the honestum, 
and next those that are grounded upon the utile. — enn: 

The most ancient philosophical system concerning the princi- 
ples of action in the human mind, and, I think, the most agree- 
able to nature, is that which we find in some fragments of the 
ancient Pythagoreans, and which is adopted by noe and: ex- 
plained in some of his dialogues. ’ 

According to this system, there is a leading piscine in the 
soul, which, like the supreme power in a commonwealth, has 
authority and right to govern. ‘This leading principle they call- 
ed reason. It is that which distinguishes men that are adult 
from brutes, idiots, and infants. The inferior principles, which 
are under the authority of the leading principle, are our passions 
and appetites, which we have in common with the brutes. 

Cicero adopts this system, and expresses it wellin few words. 
“Duplex enim est vis animorum atque nature. — Una pars in 
appetitu posita est, que hominem huc et illue rapit, que est 
‘oeun greece, altera in ratione, que docet, et explanat quid faci- 

endum fugiendumve sit. Ita fit ut ratio ie ——! ob- 
temperet.” 

This division of our active principles can hardly indeed be 
accounted a discovery .of philosophy, because it has been com- 


QP HE NOTION OF DUTY. 153 


mon to the unlearned in all ages of the world, and seems to be 
dictated by the common sense of mankind. i li 

_ What | would now observe concerning this common division 
of our active powers, is, that the leading principle, which is 
called reason, comprehends both a regard to what is right and 
honourable, and a regard to our happiness upon the whole. 

Although these be really two distinct principles of action, it 
is very natural to comprehend them under one name, because 
both are leading principles, both suppose the use of reason. and, 
when rightly understood, both lead to the same course of life. 
They are like two fountains whose streams unite and run in the 
same channel. 

When a man, on one occasion, consults his real happiness in 
things not inconsistent with his duty, though in opposition to the 
solicitation of appetite or passion ; and when, on another occa- 
sion, without any selfish consideration, he does what is right and 
honourable, because it is so; in both these cases he acts rea- 
sonably; every man approves of his conduct, and calls it reason- 
able, or according to reason. 

_ So that, when we speak of reason as a principle of action in 

man, it includes a regard both to the honestum and to the utile. 
Both are combined under one name ; and accordingly, the dic- 
tates of both, in the Latin tengue, were combined under the 
name officium, and in the Greek under xaézzoy. 

If we examine the abstract notion of duty, or. moral obliga- 
tion, it appears to be neither any real quality of the action con- 
sidered by itself, nor of the agent considered without respect to 
the action, but a certain relation between the one and the other. 

When we say a man ought to do sucha thing, the ought, 
which expresses the moral obligation, has a respect, on the one 
hand, to the person who eught, and, on the other, to the action 
which he ought todo. Those two correlates are essential to 
every moral obligation; take away either, and it has no exist- 
ence. So that, if we seek the place of moral obligation among 
the categories, it belongs to the category of relation. 

There are many relations of things, of which we have the 
most distinct conception, without being able to define them logi- 
cally. Equality and proportion are relations between quanti- 
ties, which every man understands, but no man can define. 

Moral obligation is a relation of its own kind, which every 
man understands, but is perhaps too simple to admit of logical 
definition. Like all other relations, it may be changed or an- 
nihilated by a change in any of the two related things, | mean 
the agent or the action. : * 

Perhaps it may not be improper to point out briefly the 
circumstances, both in the action and in the agent, which are 
necessary to constitute moral obligation. The universal agree- 


ay 


154 ESSAY IM. 
ment of men in these, shows that they have one and the same 


n of it. 

ai regard to the action, it must be a rclaneien action, or 
prestation of the person obliged, and not of another. There 
can be no moral obligation upon a man to be six feet high. Nor 
can I be under a moral obligation that another person should do 
such a thing. His actions must be imputed to himself, and mine 
only to me, either for praise or blame. ‘iy Mis 

I need hardly mention, thatia person can be eden a moral 


* obligation, only to things within the sphere*of his natural 


‘power. em 

As to the party obliged, it is evident, there can ie nomoral 
obligation upon an inanimate thing. To speak of moral obli- 
gation upee a stone or a tree is ridiculous, because it contradicts 
every man’s notion of moral obligation. 

The person obliged must have understanding and will, abd 
some degree of active power. He must not only have the 
natural faculty of understanding, but the means of knowing his 
obligation. An invincible ignorance of this destroys all moral 
obligation. 

The opinion of the agent in doing the action gives itits moral 
denomination. If he does a materially good action, without 
any belief of its being good, but from some other principle, it 
is no good action in him. | And if he does it mith the ane of 
its being ill, it is ill in him. Wis 

Thus, if a man should give to his neighboulk a ‘potas which 
he really believes will poison him, but which, in the event, 
proves salutary, and does much good; in moral estimation, he is 
a poisoner, and nota benefactor. 

These qualifications of the action and of the agent, in moral 
obligation, are self-evident; and the agreement of all men in 
them shows, that all men haite the same notion, ated a distinct 
notion of moral obligation. 


, — 
CHAPTER VI. 


OF THE SENSE OF DUTY. * } 

WE are next to consider, how we learn to judge and Agiar 
mine, that this is right, and thatis wrong. 

The abstract notion of moral good and ill would be of nou use 
to direct our life, if we had not the power of applyingaGiepar- 
ticular actions, and determining what is morally good, and what 
is morally ill. 

, Some philosophers, with whom I agtee, ascribe this to an 
a 


hie 
esti 
as 


OF THE SENSE @# DUTY. 155 


original power or faculty in man, which they call the moraé 
sense, the moral faculty, conscience. Others think, that our 
moral sentiments may be accounted for without supposing any 
original sense or faculty appropriated to that purpose, and go 
into very different systems to account for them. 

I am not, at present, to take any notice of those systems, be- 
cause the opinion first mentioned seems to me to be the truth, 
to wit, that, by an original power of the mind, when we come to 
years of understanding and reflection, we not only have the no- 
tions of right and wrong in conduct, but perceive certain things 
to be right and others to be wrong. ‘ 

The name of the moral sense, though more frequently given 
to conscience since lord Shaftesbury and Dr. Hutcheson wrote, 
is not new. ‘The sensus recti et honesti is a phrase not un- 
frequent among the ancients, neither is the sense of duty among 
us. 


It has got this name of sense, no doubt, from some analogy : 


which it is conceived to bear to the external senses. And if 
we have just notions’ of the office of the external senses, the 
analogy is very evident, and | see no reason to take offence, as 
some have done, at the name of the moral sense. 

The offence taken at this name seems to be owing to this, 
that. philosophers have degraded the senses too much, and de- 
prived them of the most important part of their office. 

We are taught, that by the senses, we have only certain ideas 
which we could not have otherwise. They are represented as 
powers by which we have sensations and ideas, not as powers by 
' which we judge. 

This potion of the senses I take to be very lame, and ‘to 
contradict what nature and accurate reflection teach concern- 
ing them. } ; 

A man who has totally lost the sense of seeing, may retain 
very distinct notions of the various colours ; but he cannot judge 
of colours, because he has lost the sense by which alone he could 
judge. By my eyes I not only have the ideas of a square 
and a circle, but I perceive this surface to be a square, that to 
be a.circle. 

By my ear, I not only have the idea of sounds, loud and soft, 
acute and grave, but | immediately perceive and judge this sound 
to be loud, that to be soft, this to be acute, that to be grave. 


Two or more synchronous sounds | perceive to be concordant, 


others to be discordant. 
These are judgments of the senses. They have always bee 
called and accounted such, by those’ whose minds are not tine- 
tured by philosophical theories. They are the immediate testi- 
mony of nature by our senses; and we are so constituted by 
nature, that we must receive their testimony, for no other reason 
bat because it is given by our senses. 


+ 


a 


a 


156 ESSAY Ui, 


In vain do skeptics endeavour to overturn this evidence by 
metaphysical reasoning. Though we should not be able to 
answer their arguments, we believe our senses still, and rest our 
most important concerns upon their testimony. 

If this be a just notion of our external senses, as I conceive it 
is, our moral faculty may, | think, without i ImpropHlehyy be called 
the moral sense. pais 

In its dignity it is, without doubt, far superior to every ether 
power of the mind; but there 1s this analogy between it and the 
external senses, that, as by them we have not only the original 
conceptions of the various qualities of bodies, but the original 
judgments that this body has such a quality, that such another ; 
so by our moral faculty, we have both the original conceptions 
of right and wrong in conduct, of merit and demerit, and the 
original judgments that this conduct is right, that is wrong ; that 
this character has worth, that, demerit. 

_ The testimony of our moral faculty, like that of the external 
senses, is the testimony of nature, and we have the same reason 
to rely upon it. 

The truths immediately testified by the external senses are 
the first principles from which we reason, with regard to the 
material world, and from which all our knowledge of it is de- 
duced. 

The truths immediately testified by our moral faculty, are the 
first principles of all moral reasoning, from which all our know- 
ledge of our duty must be deduced. 

By moral reasoning, I understand all reasoning that is brought 
to prove that such conduct is right, and deserving of moral ap- 
probation, or that it is wrong, or that it is indifferent, and, in it- 
self, neither morally good nor ill. 


J think all we can properly call mora] judgments are reduci- 


ble to one or other of these, as all human actions, considered in 
a moral view, are either good, or bad, or indifferent, 

I know the term moral reasoning is often used by good. writers 
in a more extensive sense; but as the reasoning | now speak of 


is of a peculiar kind, yale from all others, and therefore 


ought to have a distinct name, I take the liberty to hmit the 
name of moral reasoning to this kind. 


Let it be understood, therefore, that in the reasoning “i call 


moral, the conclusion always i is, that something in the conduct 
of moral agents is good or bad ina greater or a less degree, or 
indifferent. 

All reasoning must be grounded on first principles. This holds 
in moral reasoning, as in all other kinds. There must therefore 
be in all morals, as in all other sciences, first 0: self-evident 
principles, on which all moral reasoning is grounded, and on 
which it ultimately rests. From such self-evident principles, 


conclusions may be drawn synthetically with regard to the moral — 


~ 8 ele ee ee 


| 
i 


ON THE SENSE OF DUTY. lay 


conduct of life; and particular duties or virtues may be traced 
back to such principles, analytically. But, without such prin- 
ciples, we can no more establish any conclusion in morals, than 
we can build a castle in the air, without any foundation. 

An example or two will serve to illustrate this. 

- It is a first principle in morals, that we ought not to do te 
another, what we should think wrong to be done to us in like 
circumstances. If aman is not capable of perceiving this in 
his cool moments, when he reflects seriously, he is not a moral 
agent, nor is he capable of being convinced of it by reasoning. 

From what topic can you reason with such a man? You may 
possibly convince him by reasoning, that it is his interest to ob- 
serve this rule; but this is not to convince him that it is his 
duty. To reason about justice with a man who sees nothing to 
be just or unjust; or about benevolence with a man who sees 
nothing in benevolence preferable to malice, is like reasoning 
with a blind man about colour,sor with a deaf man about sound. 

It is a question in morals that admits of reasoning, whether, 
by the law of nature, a man ought to have only one wife ? 

We reason upon this question, by balancing the advantages 
and disadvantages to the family, and to society m general, that 
are naturally consequent both upon monogamy and polygamy. 
And if itcan be shown that the advantages are greatly upon the 
side of monogamy, we think the point is determined. 


But if a man does not perceive that he ought to regard the 
good of society, and the good of his wife and children, the rea-— 


soning can have no effect upon him, because he denies the first 
principles upon which it is grounded. 
Suppose again, that we reason for monogamy from the inten- 
tion of nature, discovered by the proportion of males and of fe- 
males that are born ; a proportion which corresponds perfectly 
with monogamy, but by no means with polygamy. This argu- 
ment can have no weight with a man who does not perceive that 


he ought to have a regard to the intention of nature. 


Thus we shall find that all moral reasonings rest upon one or 
more first principles of morals, whose truth is immediately 
perceived without reasoning, by all men come to years of un- 
derstanding. 

And this indeed is common to every branch of human know- 
ledge that deserves the name of science. There must be first 
principles proper to that science, by which the whole superstruc- 
ture is supported. 

The first principles of all the sciences, must be the immediate 


dictates of our natural faculties; nor is it possible that we should — 


have any other evidence of their truth. And in different sci- 

ences the faculties which:dictate their first principles are very 

different. eam ial 
Thus, in astronomy and in optics, in which such wonderful 
VOL. TIl. ; 21 


158 ESSAY Ill. 


discoveries have been made, that the unlearned can hardly bes 
lieve them to be within the reach of human capacity, the first 
principles are phenomena, attested solely by that little organ, the 
human eye. If we disbelieve its report, the whole of those two 
noble fabrics of science falls to pieces like the visions of the night. 
. The principles of music all depend upon the testimony of 
ihe ear. The principles of natural philosophy, upon the facts 
attested by the senses. The principles of mathematics, upon 
the necessary relations of quantities considered abstractly, such 
as, that equal quantities added to equal quantities make equal 
sums, and the like; which necessary relations are immediately 
perceived by the understanding. __ ; gee 

The science of politics borrows its principles from what we 

know by experience of the character and conductof man. We 
consider net what he ought to be, but what he is, and thence 
conclude what part he will actin different situations and circum- 
stances. From such principles we reason concerning the causes 
and effects of different forms of government, laws, customs, and 
manners. If a man were either a more perfect or a more im- 
perfect, a better or a worse creature than he is, politics would 
bea different science from what it is. 
_ The first principles of morals are the immediate dictates of 
the moral faculty. They show us, not what man is, but what he 
ought to be. Whatever is immediately perceived to be just, 
honest, and honourable, in human conduct, carries moral obli- 
gation along with it, and the contrary carries demerit and blame ; 
and, from those moral obligations that are immediately perceived, 
all other moral obligations must be deduced by reasoning. 

He that will judge of the colour of an object, must consult 
his eyes, in a good light, when there is no medium or contiguous 
objects that may give it a false tinge. But in vain will he con- 
sult every other faculty in this matter. Pinar aR 

In like manner, he that will judge of the first principles of 
morals, must consult his conscience, or moral faculty, when he ~ 
is calm and dispassionate, unbiassed by interest, affection, or 
fashion. Begidt = Jigga 

As we rely upon the clear and distinct testimony of our eyes, 
concerning the colours and figures of the bodies about us, we 
have the same reason to rely with security upon the clear and 
unbiassed testimony of our conscience, with regard to what we 
ought and ought not todo. In many cases, moral worth and de- 


"merit are discerned no less clearly by the last of those natural 


faculties, than figure and colour by the first. . 3 

The faculties which nature has given us, are the only engines — 
we can use to find out the truth. We cannot indeed prove that 
those faculties are not fallacious, unless God should give us new 
faculties to sit in judgment upon the old. But we are born 
under a necessity of trusting them, 


QF MORAL APPROBATION. 159 


Every man in his senses believes his eyes, his ears, and his 
other senses. He believes his consciousness, with respect to 
his own thoughts and purposes, hismemory, with regard to what 
is past, his understanding, with regard to abstract relations of 
things, and his taste, with regard to what is elegant and beauti- 
ful. And he has the same reason, and, indeed, is under the same 
necessity of believing the clear and unbiassed dictates of his con- 
science, with regard to what is honourable and what is base. 

The sum of what has been said in this chapter is, That, by 
an original power of the mind, which we call conscience, or the 
moral faculty, we have the conceptions of right and wrong in hu- 
man conduct, of merit and demerit, of duty and moral obligation, 
and our other moral conceptions ; and that, by the same faculty, 
we perceive some things in human conduct to be right, and 
others to be wrong; that the first principles of morals are the 
dictates of this faculty; and that we have the same reason to 
rely upon those dictates, as upon the determinations of our 
senses, or of our other natural faculties. 


CHAPTER VII. 


OF MORAL APPROBATION AND DISAPPROBATION.. 


OUR moral judgments are not, like those we form in specu- 
lative matters, dry and unaffecting, but from their nature, are 
necessarily accompanied with affections and feelings; which we 
are now to consider. 

It was before observed, that every human action, considered 
in-a moral view, appears to us good, or bad, or indifferent. 
When we judge the action to be indifferent, neither good nor 
bad, though this be a moral judgment, it produces no affection 
nor feeling, any more than our judgments in speculative matters. . 

But we approve of good actions, and disapprove of bad ; and 
this approbation and disapprobation, when we analyze it, ap- 
pears to include, not only a moral judgment of the action, but 
some affection, favourable or unfavourable, toward the agent, 
and some feeling in ourselves. 

Nothing is more evident than this, that moral worth, even ina 
stranger, with whom we have not the least connexion, never fails 
to produce some degree of esteem mixed with good will. 

The esteem which we have for a man on account of his moral 
worth, is different from that which is grounded upon his intel- 
Tectual accomplishments, his birth, fortune, and connexion 
with us. 

_\ Moral worth, when it is not set off by eminent abilities, and 
external advantages, is like a diamond in the mirfe, which is rough 


169 ESSAY IIT. 


and unpolished, and perhaps crusted over with: some baser mate- 
rial that takes away its lustre. 

- But, when it 1s attended with these advantages, it is like a 
diamond cut, polished, and set. Then its lustre attracts every 
eye. Yet these things, which add so much to its | appearance; 
add but little to its real value. 

We must further observe, that esteem and benevolent regard, 
not only accompany real worth by the constitution of our nature, 
but are perceived to be really and properly due to it; and that, 
on the contrary, unworthy conduct war merits dislike and in- 
dignation. 

There is no judgment of the heart of man more ‘aie or 
more irresistible, than this, that esteem and regard are really 
due to good conduct, and the contrary to base and unworthy 
eonduct. Nor can we conceive a greater depravity im the heart 
ef man, than it would be to see and acknowledge worth with- 
eut feeling any respect to it; or to see and acknowledge the 
highest worthlessness without any degree of dislike ene cad 
nation. 

The esteem that is due to worthy conduct, is not diese 
when a man is conscious of it in himself. Nor can he help 
having some esteem for himself, when he is conscious of those 
qualities for which he most highly esteems others. — 

Self-esteem, grounded upon external advantages, or the gifts 
of fortune, is pride. | When it is grounded upon a vain conceit 
of inward worth, which we do not possess, it is arrogance and 
self-deceit. But when a man, without thinking of himself more 
highly than he ought to think, is conscious of that integrity of 
heart and uprightness of conduct, which he most highly esteems 
in others, and values himself duly upon this account; this per- 
haps may be called the pride of virtue, but it is not a vicious 
pride. It is a noble and magnanimous diepassign without 
which there can be no steady virtue. cg 

A man who has a character with himself, which he values, 
will disdain to act ina manner unworthy of it. The language 
of his heart will be like that of Job. ‘ My righteousness J hold 
fast, and will not let it go ; my heart shall not reproach me ag 
I live.” 

A good man owes much to his character with the eoal ih 
will be concerned to vindicate it from unjust imputations. ’ But 
he owes much more to his character with himself. For if his 
heart condemns him not, he has confidence toward God; and he 
can more easily bear the lash of tongues than the reproach of 
his own mind. we 

The sense of honour, so much spoken of, and so often misap- 
plied, is nothing else, when rightly understood, but the disdain 
which a man of worth feels to doa dishonourable action, though 
it should never be known nor suspected. 


OF MORAL APPROBATION. 16} 


A good man will have a much greater abhorrence against do- 
ing a bad action, than even against having it unjustly imputed to 
him. The last may give a wound to his reputation, but the first 
gives a wound to his conscience, which is more difficult to heal, 
and more painful to endure. 

Let us, on the other hand, consider how we are affected by 
disapprobation, either of the conduct of others, or of our own. 

Every thing we disapprove in the conduct of a man, lessens 
him in our esteem. There are indeed brilliant faults, which, 
having a mixture of good and ill in them; may have a very dif- 
ferent aspect, according to the side on which we view them. 

In such faults of our friends, and much more of ourselves, we 
are disposed to view them on the best side, and on the contrary 
side in those to whom we are ill affected. 

This partiality, in taking things by tue best or by the worst 
handle, is the chief cause of wrong judgment with regard to the 
eharacter of others, and of self-deceit with regard to our own. 

But when we take complex actions to pieces, and view every 
part by itself, ill conduct of every kind lessens our esteem of a 
man, as much as good conduct increases it. It is apt to turn 
love into indifference, indifference into contempt, and contempt 
into aversion and abhorrence. 

When a man is conscious of immoral conduct in himself, it 
lessens his self-esteem. it depresses and humbles his spirit, and 
makes his countenance to fall. He could even punish himself 
for his misbehaviour, if that could wipe out the stain. There 
is a sense of dishonour and worthlessness arising from guilt, as 
well as a sense of honour and worth arising from worthy con- 
duct. And this is the case, even if a man could conceal his guilt 
from all] the world. 

We are next to consider the agreeable or uneasy feelings, in 
the breast of the spectator or judge, which naturally accompany 
moral approbation and disapprobation. 

There is no affection that is not accompanied with some agree- 
able or uneasy emotion. | It has often been observed, that all 
the benevolent affections give pleasure, and the contrary ones 
pain, in one degree or another. 

When we contemplate a noble character, though but in 
ancient history, or even in fiction; like a beautiful object, it 
gives a lively and pleasant emotion to the spirits. It warms the 
heart, and invigorates the whole frame. [Like the beams of the 
sun, it enlivens the face of nature, and diffuses heat and light. 
all around. . 

We feel a sympathy with every noble and worthy character 
that is represented to us. We rejoice in his prosperity, we are 
afilicted in his distress. We even catch some sparks of that 
celestial fire that animated his conduct, and feel the glow of his 
virtue and magnanimity. VOM 


162 FSSAY Til. 


This sympathy is the necessary effect of our judgment of his 


conduct, and of the approbation and esteem due to it; for real 


sympathy i is always the effect of some benevolent atleetion, such 
as esteem, love, pity, or humanity. ty 4 

When the person whom we approve is connected with us by 
acquaintance, friendship, or blood, the pleasure we derive from 
his conduct is greatly increased. We claim some propert 
his worth, and are apt to value ourselves on account of it. ch 
shows a stronger degree of sympathy, which gathers ae 
from every social diet bi ser . AOR 

But the highest pleasure of all is, when we are conscious of 
good conduct in ourselves. This, in sacred scripture, is called 
the testimony of a good conscience ; and it is represented, not 
only in the sacred writings, but in the writings of all moralists, 
of every age and sect, as the purest, the most noble and valua- 
ble of all human enjoyments. ihn ited 

Surely, were we to place the chief happiness of this life, a 
thing that has been so much sought after, in any one kind of en- 
joyment, that which arises from the consciousness of integrity, 
and a uniform endeavour to act the best part in our station, 
would most justly claim the preference to all other enjoyments 
the human mind is capable of, on account of its dignity, the in- 
tenseness of the happiness it affords, its stability and duration, 
its being in our power, and its being proof against allaceidents 
of time and fortune. 

On the other hand, the view of a vicious character, like 
that of an ugly and deformed object, is die It gives 
disgust and abhorrence. 

If the unworthy person be nearly connected with us, we have 
a very painful sympathy indeed. We blush even for the smaller 
faults of those we are connected with, and feel outucivesy as it 
were, dishonoured by their ill conduct. * 

But, when there isa high degree of depravity in any person 
cénuected with us, we are deeply humbled and depressed by 
it. The sympathetic feeling has some resemblance to that of” 
guilt, though it be free from all guilt. We are ashamed to see 
our acquaintance; we would, if possible, disclaim all con- 
nexion with the guilty person. We wish to tear him from: our 


» hearts, and to blot him out of our remembrance. 


Time, however, alleviates those sympathetic sorrows "well6h 
arise from bad behaviour in our friends and connexions, if we 
are conscious that we had no share in their guilt. oe 

The wisdom of God, in the constitution of our nature, has i in- 
tended, that this sympathetic distress should interest us the more 
deeply in the good behaviour, as well as in the good fortune of 
our friends ; and that thereby friendship, relation, and every so- 
cial tie, should be aiding to virtue, and unfavourable to vice. 

How common is it, even in vicious parents, to be deeply 


OF MORAL APPRORATION. 163 


afflicted when their children go into those courses in which 
perhaps they have gone before them, and, by their example, 
shown them the way. 

If bad conduct in those in whom we are interested, be 
uneasy and painful, it is so much more when we are conscious 
of itin ourselves. This uneasy feeling has a name in all lan- 

uages.. We call it remorse. 

- It has been described in such frightful colours by writers 
sacred and profane, by writers of every age and of every 
persuasion, even by Epicureans, that [ will not attempt the 
description of it. 

It is on account of the uneasiness of this feeling, that bad 
men take so much pains to get rid of it, and to hide, even from 
their own eyes, as much as possible, the pravity of their conduct. 
Hence arise all the arts of self-deceit, by which men varnish 
their crimes, or endeavour to wash out the stain of guilt. 
Hence the various methods of expiation which superstition has 
invented, to solace the conscience of the criminal, and give 
some cooling to his parched breast. Hence also arise, very 
often, the efforts of men of bad hearts to excel in some amiable 
quality, which may be a kind of counterpoise to their vices, 
both in the opinion of others and in their own. 

For no man can bear the thought of being absolutely desti- 
tute of all worth. The consciousness of this would make him’ 
detest himself, hate the light of the sun, and fly, if possible, 
out of existence. 

I have now endeavoured to delineate the natural operations 
of that principle of action in man, which we call the moral 
sense, the moral faculty, conscience. We know nothing of our 
natural faculties, but by their operations within us. Of their 
operations in our own minds, we are conscious, and we see 
the signs of their operations in the minds of others. Of. this 
faculty the operations appear to be, the judging ultimately of 
what is right, what is wrong, and what is indifferent, in the 
conduct of moral agents ; the approbation of good conduct, 
and disapprobation of bad in consequence of that judgment ; 
and the agreeable emotions which attend obedience, and dis- 
agreeable which attend disobedience to its dictates. 

The Supreme Being, who has given us eyes to discern what 
may be useful and what hurtful to our natural life, has also 
given us this light within to direct our moral conduct. ; 

Moral conduct is the business of every man; and therefore 
the knowledge of it ought to be within the reach of all. 

Epicurus reasoned acutely and justly to show, that a regard 
to our present happiness should induce us to the practice of 
temperance, justice, and humanity. But the bulk of mankind 
cannot follow long trains of reasoning. The loud voice of the 
passions drowns the calm and still voice of reasoning. 


: 4 


ni 


eRe 


164 ; HSSAY III. 


Conscience commands and forbids with more authority, and, 
in the most common and most important points of conduct, 
without the labour of reasoning. Its voice ‘is heard by every 
man, and cannot be disregarded with impunity. 

The sense of guilt makes a man at variance wit Eibeoncll. 
He sees that he is what he ought not to be. He has. fallen 
from the dignity of his nature, and has sold his real worth for a 
thing of no value. He is conscious of demerit, and cannot 
avoid the dread of meeting with its reward. 

On the other hand, he who pays a sacred regard ren the 
dictates of his conscience, cannot fail of a present reward, and 
a reward proportioned to the exertion required in doing his 
duty. 

The man who, in opposition to strong temptation, by ; a noble 
effort, maintains his integrity, is the happiest man on earth. The 
more severe his conflict has been, the greater is his triumph. 
The consciousness of inward worth gives strength to his heart, 
and makes his continuance to shine. -Tempests may beat and 


_ floods roar ; but he stands firm as a rock, in the joy of a good 
conscience, and confidence of divine apprdaiane y 


To this I shall only add, what every man’s conscience dictates, 
that he who does his duty, from the conviction that it is right 
and honourable, and what he ought to do, acts froma nobler 
principle, and with more inward satisfaction, than he who is 
bribed to do it, merely from the consideration of a reward 
present or future. Faaie Tobia 


CHAPTER VIII. | we 
OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. — 


I SHALL now conclude this Essay with some observations 
concerning this power of the mind which we call conscience, by 
which its nature may be better understood. 

The first is, that like all our other powers, it comes. to 
maturity by insensible degrees, and may be much aided i in its 
strength and vigour by proper culture. 

All the human faculties have their infancy and their state of 
maturity. 

The faculties which we have in common with the brates 


‘appear first, and have the quickest growth. ‘In the first period 


of life, children are not capable of distinguishing right from 
wrong in human conduct; neither are they capable ¢ of abstract 
reasoning in matters of science. Their judgment | ‘of moral 
conduct, as well as their judgment of truth, advances by insen- 
sible degrees. like the corn and the grass. 


OBSERVATIONS CONCEBNING CONSCIENCE. ite 


“In vegetables, first the blade or the leaf appears, then the 
flower, and last of all the fruit, the noblest production of the 
three, and that for which the others were produced. These 
succeed one another in a regular order. They require moisture 
and heat, and air and shelter, to bring them to~ maturity, 
and may be much improved by culture. According to the 
variations of soil, season, and culture, some plants are brought 
to much greater perfection than others of the same species. 
But no variation of culture, or season, or soil, can make grapes 
grow from thorns, or figs from thistles. 

We may observe a similar progress in the faculties of the 
mind : for there is a wonderful analogy among all the works of 
God, from the least even to the greatest. 

The faculties of man unfold themselves in a certain order, 
appointed by the great Creator. In their gradual progress, 
they may be greatly assisted or retarded, improved or corrupted, 
by education, instruction, example, exercise, and by the society 
and conversation of men, which, like soil and culture in plants, 
may produce great changes to the better or to the worse. a 

Butthese means can never produce any new faculties, nor any 
other than were originally planted in the mind by the, Author 
of nature. And what is common to the whole species, in all 
the varieties of instruction and education, of improvement and 
degeneracy, is the work of God, and not the operation of 
second causes. F 

Such we may justly account conscience, or the faculty of 
distinguishing right conduct from wrong ; since it appears, and 
in all nations and ages has appeared, in men that are come to 
maturity. 

The seeds, as it were, of moral discernment are planted in 
the mind by him that made us. They grow up in their proper 
season, and’are at first tender and delicate, and easily warped. 

“Their progress depends very much upon their being duly 
cultivated and properly exercised. 

It is so with the power of reasoning, which all acknowledge 
io be one of the most eminent natural faculties of man. It 
appears not in infancy. Itsprings up, by insensible degrees, as 
we grow to maturity. But its strength and vigour depend se 
much upon its being duly cultivated and exercised, that we see 
many individuals, nay, many nations, in which it is hardly to be 
perceived. 

Our intellectual discernment is not so strong and vigerous by 
nature, as to secure us from errors in speculation. On the 
contrary, we see a great part of mankind, in every age, sunk in 
gross ignorance of things that are obvious to the more enlighten- 
ed, and fettered by errors and false notions, which the human 
understanding, duly improved, easily throws off. 

Tt would be extremely absurd, from the errors and ignorance 

yOr. Il, 2 


joe ESSAY fli. 


of mankind, to conclude that there is no such thing as truth ; 
or that man has not a natural faculty of discerning it, and dis- 
tinguishing it from error. cpa 

In like manner, our moral discernment of what we ought, 
and what we ought not to do, is not so strong and vigorous by 
nature, as to secure us from very gross mistakes with regard to 
our duty. aT be 

In matters of conduct, as well as in matters of speculation, 
we are liable to be misled by prejudices of education, or by 
wrong instruction. But, in matters of conduct, we are also 
very liable to have our judgment warped by our appetites and 
passions, by fashion, and by the contagion of evil example. _ 

We must not therefore think, because man has the natural 
power of discerning what is right, and what is wrong, that he 
has no need of instruction; that this power has no need of 
cultivation and improvement ; that he may safely rely upon the 


suggestions of his mind, or upon opinions he has got, he knows’ 


not how. pies 
What should we think of a man, who, because he has by 
nature the power of moving all his limbs, should, therefore 


' eonclude that he needs not to be taught to dance, or to fence, 


__ to ride, or to swim? All these exercises are performed by that 


power of moving our limbs, which we have by nature; but 
they will be performed very awkwardly and imperfectly by. those 
who have not been trained to them, and practised in them. 
What should we think of the man, who, because he has the 
power by nature of distinguishing what is true from what is 
false, should conclude that he has no need to be taught mathe- 
matics, or natural philosophy, or other sciences? It is by the 
natural power of human understanding that every thing in those 
sciences has been discovered, and that the truths they contain 
are discerned. But the understanding, left to itself, without 
the aid of instruction, training, habit, and exercise, would make 
very small progress, as every one sees, in persons uninstructed 
in those matters. : 
Our natural power of discerning between right and wrong, 


ieyaaimmecds the aid of instruction, education, exercise, and habit, as 


~ well as our other natural powers. i 

There are persons who, as the scripture speaks, have, by rea- 
son of use, their senses exercised to discern both good and evil : 
by that means, they have a much quicker, clearer, and more cer- 
tain judgment in morals than others. Pda 

The man who neglects the means of improvement in the 
knowledge of his duty, may do very bad things, while he follows 
the light of his mind. And though he be not culpable for acting 
according to his judgment, he may be very culpable for not 
using the means of having his judgment better informed. 

It mav be observed. that there are truths. both speculative 


i 


ee hoe, 


ie a - 


OBSERVAZIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. ib7 


and moral, which a man left to himself would never discover : 
yet, when they are fairly laid before him, he owns and adopts 
them, not barely upon the authority of his teacher, but upon 
their own intrinsic evidence, and perhaps wonders that he could 
be so blind as not to see them before. 

Like a man whese son has been long abroad, and supposed 
dead. After many years the son returns, and is not known by 
his father. He would never find that this is son. But, when 
he discovers himself,the father soon finds, by many circumstances, 
that this is his son who was lost, and can be no other person. 

Truth has an affinity with the human understanding, whicherror 
has not. And right principles of conduct have an affinity with 
a candid mind, which wrong principles have not. When they 
are set before it in a just light, a well-disposed mind recognizes 
this affinity, feels their authority, and perceives them to be 
genuine. It was this, | apprehend, that led Plato to conceive 
that the knowledge we acquire in the present state, is only re- 
miniscence of what, ina former state, we were acquainted with. 
' A man born and brought up in a savage nation, may be taught 
to pursue injury with unrelenting malice, to the destruction of 
his enemy. Perhaps when he does so, his heart does not con- 
demn him. 


Yet, if he he fair and candid, and, when the tumult of passion 


is over, have the virtues of clemency, generosity, and forgive- 
ness, laid before him, as they were taught and exemplified by 
the Divine Author of our religion, he will see, that it is more 
noble to evercome himself, and subdue a savage passion, than to 
destroy his enemy. He will see, that to make a friend of an 
enemy, and to overcome evil with good, is the greatest of all 
victories, and gives a manly and a rational delight, with which 
the brutish passion of revenge deserves not to be compared. 
He will see that hitherto he acted like a man to his friends, but 
like a brute to his enemies ; now he knows how to make his 
whole character consistent, and one part of it to harmonize with 
another. : 

He must indeed be a great stranger to his own heart, and to 
the state of human nature, who does not see that he has need 


of all the aid which his situation affords him, in order to know 


how he ought to act in many cases that occur. 

A second observation is, that conscience is peculiar to man. 
We sce not a vestige of it in brute animals. It is one of those 
prerogatives by which we are raised above them. 

Brute animals have many faculties in common with us. They 
see, and hear, and taste, and smell, and feel. They have their 
pleasures and pains. They have various instincts and appetites. 
They have an affection for their offspring, and some of them for 
their herd or flock. Dogshave a‘wonderful attachment to their 
masters, and give manifest signs of sympathy with them. 


cae 


ae 


168 ESSAY Il. 


We see in brute animals, angerand emulation, pride and shame.» 
Some of them are capable of being trained by habit, and by re- — 
wards and punishments, to many things useful to man. 

All this must be granted ; and if our perception of what we 
ought, and what we ought not to do, could be resolved into 
any of these principles, or into any combination of them, it 
would follow, that some brutes are moral agents; and accounta-_ 
ble for their conduct. agai, 

But common sense revolts against this conclusion. Aman, 
who seriously charged a brute with a crime, would be laughed at. 
They may do actions hurtful to themselves, or to man. They 
may have qualities, or acquire habits, that lead to such actions; 
and this is all we mean when we call them vicious. But they 
cannot be immoral; nor can they be virtuous. They are not 
capable of self- government ; ; and, when they act according to 
the passion or habit which is strongest at the time, they act .ac- 
cording to the nature that God has given them, and no more can 
be required of them. 

They cannot lay down a rule to themselves, mies paws are 
not to transgress, though prompted by appetite, or ruffled by 
passion. We see no reason to think that they can form the con- 
ception of a general rule, or of obligation to adhere to it. 

They have no conception of a promise or contract; nor can 
you enter into any treaty with them. ‘They can neither affirm 
nor deny, nor resolve, nor plight their faith. If nature had 
made them capable of these operations, we should see the signs 
of them in their motions and gestures. 

The most sagacious brutes never invented a language, nor 
jearned the use of onevbefore invented. They never formeda 
plan of government, nor transmitted inventions to their posterity. 

These things, and many others that are obvious to common 
observation, show, that there is just reason why mankind have 
always considered the brute creation as destitute of the noblest 
faculties with which God has endowed man, and particularly of 
that faculty which makes us moral and accountable beings. 

The next observation is, that conscience is evidently intended 
by nature to be the immediate guide and director of our con- 
duct, after we arrive at the years of understanding. rs 

There are many things which, from their nature and donetinas 
show intuitively the end for which they were made. — 

Aman who knows the structure of a watch or clock, can 
have no doubt in concluding that it was made to measure time. 
And he that knows the structure of the eye, and the properties 

of light, can have as little doubt whether it was Resin that we. 
might see by it. : Mf 

In the fabric of the body, the intention of the. comand parts is, 
in many instances, so evident, as to leave no possibility of doubt. 


“ Whe can doubt wkether the muscles were intended to move the 


OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 169 


parts in which they are inserted ? Whether the bones were in- 
tended to give strength and support to the body ; and some of 
them to guard the parts which they enclose ? 

When we attend to the structure of the mind, the intention of 
its various original powers is no less evident. Is it not evident, 
that the external senses are given, that we may discern those 
qualities of bodies which may be useful or hurtful tous: Memory, 
that we may retain the knowledge we have acquired: Judg- 
ment and understanding, that we may distinguish what is true 
from what is false ? 

The natural appetites of hunger and thirst, the natural affec- 
tions of parents to their offspring, and of relations to each other, 
the natural docility and credulity of children, the affections of 
pity and sympathy with the distressed, the attachment we feel 
fo neighbours, to acquaintance, and to the laws and constitution 
of our country ; these are parts of our constitution, which plain- 
ly point out their end, so that he must be blind, or very inatten- 
tive who does not perceive it. Even the passions of anger and 
resentment, appear very plainly to be a kind of defensive ar- 
mour, given by our Maker to guard us against injuries, and to 
deter the mjurious. ; 

Thus it holds generally with regard both to the intellectual and 
active powers of man, that the intention for which they are 
given is written in legible characters upon the face of them. 

Nor is this the case of any of them more evidently than of 
conscience. Its intention is manifestly implied in its office; 
which is, to show us what is good, what bad, and what indiffer- 
ent in human conduct. 

it judges of every action before itis done. For we can rarely 
act so precipitately, but we have the consciousness that what We 
are about to do is right, or wrong, or indifferent. Like the bo- 
dily eye, it naturally looks forward, though its attention may be 
turned back to the past. 

To conceive, as some seem to have done, that its office is only. 
to reflect on past actions, and to approve or disapprove, is, as if 
a man should conceive, that the office of his eyes is only to look 
back upon the road he hastravelled, and to see whether it be clean 
or dirty ; a mistake which no man can make who has the proper 
use of his eyes. 

Conscience prescribes measures to every appetite, affection, 
and passion, and says to every other principle of action, So far 
thou mayest go, but no further. : 

We may indeed transgress its dictates, but we cannot trans- 
gress them with innocence, nor even with impunity. 

We condemn ourselves, or, in the language of Scripture, owr 
heart condemns us, whenever we go beyond the rules of right and 
wrong which conscience prescribes. 


Other principles ef action may have more strength, but this _ 


Pa. 


170 KSSAY ill. 
\ 

only has authority. Its sentence makes us guilty to ourselves, 

and guilty in the eyes of our Maker, whatever phar principle 

may be set in opposition to it. 

It is evident therefore, that this private has, Sion its nature, 
an authority to direct and determine with regard to ourconduct ; 
to judge, to acquit, or to condemn, and even to punish ; an au- 
thority which belongs to no other principle of the human mind. 

It is the candle of the Lord set up within us, to guide oursteps. 
Other principles may urge and impel, but this only authorizes. 
Other principles ought to be controlled by this ; this may be, 
but never ought to be, controlled by any other, and never can be 
with innocence. 

The authority of conscience over the other active principles — 
of the mind, I do not consider as a point that requires proof by 
argument, but as self-evident. For it implies no more than this, — 
that in all cases a man ought to do his duty. He only who does 
in all cases what he ought to do, is the perfectman. 

Of this perfection in the human nature, the Stoics formed the 
idea, and held it forth in their writings as the goal to which the 
race of life ought to be directed. Their wise man was one in 
whom a regard to the honestum swallowed up nieestei other prin- 
ciple of action. 

The wise man of the Stoics, like the perfect. orator of the zhe- 
ioricians, was an ideal character, and was, in some respects, 
carried beyond nature ; yet it was perhaps the most perfect 
model of virtue that ever was exhibited tothe heathen world; — 
and some of those who copied after it, were ornaments to j 
human nature. ; 
_ The last observation is, that the moral faculty, or conscience. : 
both an active and an intellectual power of the mind. 

It is an active power, as every truly virtuous action must be — 
more or less influenced by it. Other principles may concur 
with it, and lead the same way; but no action can be called 
morally good, in which a regard to what is right has not some 


influence. Thus a man who has no regard to justice, may pay — 


his just debt, from no other motive, but that he may not be 
thrown into prison. Jn this action there is no virtue at all. 
The moral principle, in particular cases, may be opposed by 
any of our animal principles. Passion or appetite may urge to 
what we know to be wrong. In every instance of this kind, the 


moral principle ought to prevail, and the more difficult its con- 


guest i is, it is the more glorious. vane 

In some cases, a regard to what is right may be ‘the sole mo- 
tive, without the concurrence or opposition of any other princi- 
ple of action; as when a judge or an arbiter determines a 
plea between two indifferent persons, solely from a regard to 
| justice. 
7 “Spas we see, that conscience. as an active principle, some- 


, i 


OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 142 


times concurs with other active principles, sometimes opposes 
them, and sometimes is the sole principle of action. 

I endeavoured before to show, that a regard to our own good 
upon the whole, is not only a rational principle of action, but a 
leading principle, to which all our animal principles are subor- 
dinate. As there are, therefore, two regulating or leading prin- 

ciples in the constitution of man, a regard to what is best for us 
upon the whole, and a regard to duty, it may be asked, which of 
these ought to yield if they happen to interfere ? 

Some well-meaning persons have maintained, that all regard 
to ourselves and to our own happiness ought to be extinguished ; 
that we should love virtue for its own sake only, even though it 
were to be accompanied with eternal misery. _ 

This seems to have been the extravagance of some mystics, 
which perhaps they were led into, in opposition to a contrary 
extreme of the schoolmen of the middle ages, who made the 
desire of good to ourselves to be the sole motive to action, and 
virtue to be approvable only on account of its present or future 
reward. 

Juster views of human nature will teach us to avoid both 
these extremes. 

» On the one hand, the disinterested love of virtue is undoubt- 
edly the noblest principle in human nature, and ought never to 
stoop to any other. 

On the other hand, there is no active principle which God 
has planted in our nature that is vicious in itself, or that ought 
to be eradicated, even if it were in our power. 

They are all useful and necessary in our present state. The 
perfection of human nature consists, not in extinguishing, but in 
restraining them within their proper bounds, and keeping them in 
due subordination to the governing principles. 

As to the supposition of an opposition between the two go- 


verning principles, that is, between a regard to our happiness 


upon the whole, and a regard to duty, this supposition is merely 


imaginary. There can be no'such opposition. 

While the world is under a wise and benevolent administra- 
tion, it is impossible, that any man should, in the issue, be a loser 
by doing his duty. Every man, therefore, who believes in God. 
while he is careful to do his duty, may safely leave the care of 
his happiness to Him who made him. He is conscious that he 
consults the last most effectually, by attending to the first. 

Indeed, if we suppose a man to be an atheist in his belief, 
and, at the same time, by wrong judgment, to believe that virtue 
is contrary to his happiness upon the whole, this case, as lord 
Shaftesbury justly observes, is without remedy. It will be im- 
possible for the man to act, so as not to contradict a leading prin- 
ciple of his nature. He must either sacrifice his happiness to 


172 ESSAY ANI. a 


virtue, or virtue to happiness; and is reduced to this miserable 
dilemma, whether it be best to be a fool or a knave. 
This shows the strong connexion between morality and the 


‘principles of natural religion ; as the last only cansecure a man 


from the possibility of an apprehension, that he may play the 
fool by doing his duty. 

Hence, even lord Shaftesbury, in his gravest work, concludes, 
That virtue without piety is incomplete. Without piety, it loses its 
brightest example, its noblest object, and its firmest support. 

TI conclude with observing, that conscience, or the moral fa- 
culty, is likewise an intellectual power. 

By it solely we have the original conceptions or ideas of right 
and wrong in human conduct. And of right and wrong, there 
are not only many different degrees, but many different species. 
Justice and injustice, gratitude and ingratitude, benevolence 


-and malice, prudence and folly, magnanimity and meanness, 


decency and indecency, are various moral forms, all compre- 
hended under the general notion of right and wrong in conduct, 
all of them objects of moral approbation or disapprobation, in 
a greater or a less degree. 

The conception of these as moral qualities, we have by our 
moral faculty ; and by the same faculty, when we compare them 
together, we perceive various moral relations among them. 
Thus, we perceive, that justice is entitled to a small degree of 
praise, but injustice to a high degree of blame; and the same 
may be said of gratitude and its contrary. When justice and 
gratitude interfere, gratitude must give place to justice, and un- 


merited beneficence must give place to both. 

_ Many such relations between the various moral qualities 
compared together,'are immediately discerned by our moral 
faculty. A man needs only to consult his own heart to be con- 


vinced of them. ¥ | 

All our reasonings in morals, in natural jaridpiadandes in te! 7 
jaw of nations, as well as our reasonings about the duties of 
natural religion, and about the moral government of the Deity, 
must be grounded upon the dictates of our moral ow as 


first principles. 


As this faculty, therefore, furnishes the Hideetia’ itt with 
many of its original conceptions or ideas, as well as with the 
first principles of many important branches of human know- 
ledge, it may justly be accounted an intellectual, as pel as an 


apne “cil of the mind. 
wl freee 


: Been 

Se 
i PUP PaO es f 
WE, 


ae 


7 Fi wy 


2 
? 


me 


a 


ESSAY IV. 


OF THE LIBERTY OF MORAL AGENTS. 


| 


CHAPTER I. 
THE NOTIONS OF MORAL LIBERTY AND NECESSITY STATED. 


BY the liberty of a moral agent, I understand, a power over 
the determinations of his own will. 

If, in any action, he had power to will what he did, or not to 
will it, in that action he is free. But if, in every voluntary ac- 
tion, the determination of his will be the necessary consequence 
of something involuntary in the state of his mind, or of some- 
_ thing in his external circumstances, he is not free; he has not 
what I call the liberty of a moral agent, but is subject to ne- 
cessity. 

This liberty supposes the agent to have understanding and vo 
wil; for the determinations of the will are the sole objectabout = 
which this power is employed ; and there can be no will, with- — 

» out, at least, such a degree of understanding as gives the con- . 
ception of that which we will. 

The liberty of a moral agent implies, not only a conception 
of what he wills, but some degree of practical judgment or 
reason. i 

For, if he has not the judgment to discern one determination 
to be preferable to another, either in itself, or for some purpose 
which he intends, what can be the use of a power to determine ? 
his determinations must be made perfectly in the dark, without 
reason, motive, orend. They can neither be right nor wrong, 
wise nor foolish. Whatever the consequences may be, they ~~ 
cannot be imputed to the agent, who had not the capacity of 
foreseeing them, or of perceiving any reason for acting other- 
wise than he did. 

We may perhaps be able to conceive a being endowed with 
power over the determinations of his will, without any light in 
his mind to direct that power to some end. But such power 

VOL. IIT. 23 ‘ 


174 ESSAY IV. 


would be given in vain. No exercise of it could be either 
blamed or approved. As nature gives no power in vain, | see 
no ground to ascribe a power over the determinations of the will 
to any being who has no judgment to apply it to the direc- 
tion of his conduct, no discernment of what he ought or ought 
not to do. undhauet Y 

For that reason, in this Essay, I speak only of the liberty 
of moral agents, who are capable of acting well or ill, wisely 
or foolishly, and this, for distinction’s sake, I shall call moral 

hberty. ‘ 

What kind, or what degree of liberty belongs to brute ani- 

mals, or to our own species, before any use of reason, I do not 
know. We acknowledge that they have not the power of self- 

_ goyernment. Such of their actions as maybe called voluntary, 

Spee seem to be invariably determined by the passion or appetite, or — 
_- affection or habit, which is strongest at the time. 

___ This seems to be the law of their constitution, to which they 
“yield, as the inanimate creation does, without any conception of 
the law, or any intention of obedience. 

But of civil or moral government, which are addressed to the 
rational powers, and require a conception of the law and an in- 
tentional obedience, they are, in the judgment of all mankind, 
incapable. Nor do I see what end could be served by giving — 
them a power over the determinations of their own will, unless 
to make them intractable by discipline, which we see they 
are not. en ae 

The effect of moral liberty is, that it is in the power of the 

of! agent to do well or ill. This power, like every other gift of — 
God, may be abused. The right use of this gift of God is to 
do well and wisely, as far as his best judgment can direct him, 
’ “and thereby merit esteem and approbation. The abuse of it is 
to act contrary to what he knows, or suspects to be his duty — 
and his wisdom, and thereby justly merit disapprobation and 
blame. BNA Ss 3 pind 
By necessity, I understand the want of that moral liberty which — 
I have above defined. . Aigcee 
If there can be a better and a worse in actions on the system 
of necessity, let us suppose a man necessarily determined in all 
eases to will and to do what is best to be done, he would surely — 
be innocent and inculpable. But, as far as I am ve 
he would not be entitled to the esteem and moral appro pation — 
of those who knew and believed this necessity. What was, by 
an ancient author, said of Cato, might indeed be said of him. 
He was good because he could not be otherwise. But this saying, 
if understood literally and strictly, is not the praise of Cato, 
but of his constitution, which was no more the work of Cato, 
than his exigtence. 
On the other hand, if a man be necessarily determined to do 


o™ 


, 


THE NOTIONS Q@F MORAL LIBERTY. 175 


ill, this case seems to me to move pity, but not disapprobation. . 


He was ill, because he could not be otherwise. Whocan blame 
him? Necessity has no law. 

_ If he knows that he acted under this necessity, has he not 
just ground to exculpate himself? The blame, if there be any, 
is not in him, but in his constitution. If he be charged by 
his Maker with doing wrong, may he not expostulate with him, 
and say, why hast thou made me thus? I may be sacrificed at 
thy pleasure, for the common good, like a man that has the 
plague, but not for ill desert ; for thou knowest that what I am 
charged with is thy work, and not mine. 

Such are my notions of moral liberty and necessity, and of 


the consequences inseparably connected with both the one and — 


the other. 1 
- This moral liberty a man may have, though it do not extend 


to all his actions, or even to all his voluntary actions. He does — 
many things by instinct, many things by the force of habit — 


without any thought at all, and consequently without will. In 
the first part of life, he has not the power of self-government 
any morethan the brutes. That power over the determina- 
tions of his own will, which belongs to him in ripe years, is limit- 


ed, as all his powers are ; and it is perhaps beyond the reach - 


of his understanding to define its limits with precision. We 
ean only say, in general, that it extends to every action for 
which he is accountable. a 

This power is given by his Maker, and at his pleasure whose 
gift it is, it may be enlarged or diminished, continued or with- 
drawn. No power in the credture can be independent of the 
Creator. His hook is in its nose; he can give it line as far 
as he sees fit, and, when he pleases, can restrain it, or turn it 
whithersoever he will. Let this be always understood, when we 
ascribe liberty to man, or to any created being. 

Supposing it therefore to be true, that man is a free agent, 
it may be true, at the same time, that his liberty may be im- 
paired or lost, by disorder of body or mind, as in melancholy, or 
in madness ; it may be impaired or lost by vicious habits ; 
it may, in particular cases, be restrained by divine interposi- 
tion. 

We call man a free agent in the same way as we call him a 
reasonable agent. In many things he is not guided by reason, 


but by principles similar to those of the brutes. His reason is - 


weak at best. It is liable to be impaired or lost, by his own 
fault, or by other means. In like manner he may be a free 
agent, though his freedom of action may have many similar limi- 
tations. 

The liberty I have described has been represented by some 
philosophers as inconceivable, and as involving an absurdity. 

“ Liberty,” they say, “ consists only in a power to act as wa 


43 


Ad: 


4 


i AY 
Mind” 


i ee 


176 ESSAY IY. 


will; and it is impossible to conceive in any being a greater 
liberty than this. Hence it follows, that liberty does not ex- 
tend to the determinations of the will, but only to the actions 
consequent to its determination, and depending upon the will. 
To say that we have power to will suchan action, is to say, that 
we may will it, if we will. This supposes the will to be deter- 
mined by a prior will; and, for the same reason, that will must 
be determined by a will prior to it, and so on in an infinite series 
of wills, which is absurd. To act freely, therefore, can mean 
nothing more than to act voluntarily ; and thisis all the liberty 
that can be conceived in man, or in any being.’?. 

This reasoning, first, | think, advanced by Hobbes, has been 
very generally adopted by the defenders of necessity. It is 
grounded upon a definition of liberty totally different from that 


_ » which I have given, and therefore does not apply: to moral Bher- 


ty, as above defined. 

But it is said that this is the only liberty that is possible, that 
is conceivable, that does not involve an absurdity, | 

It is strange indeed! if the word hberty has no meaning but 
this one. I shall mention three, all verycommon. The ob- 
jection applies to one of them, but to neither of the other two. 

Liberty is sometimes opposed to external force or confinement 
of the body. Sometimes it is opposed to obligation by law, or 


“by lawful authority.. Sometimes it is opposed to necessity. 


Ist, It is opposed to confinement of the body by superior 
force. So we say a prisoner is set at liberty when his fetters 
are knocked off, and he is discharged from confinement. This 
is the liberty defined in. the objection; and! grant that this 
liberty extends not to the will, neither "does the cenhngpant, 


because the will cannot be confined by external force. | 


‘2dly, Liberty is opposed to obligation, by law, or lawful au- 
thority. This liberty is a right to act one way or another, in 
things which the law has neither commanded nor forbidden ; 
and this liberty is meant when we speak of a man’s. natural 
liberty, his civil liberty, his christian liberty. It is evident that 
this liberty, as well as the obligation opposed to it, extends to 
the will; for it is the will to obey that makes ebediences the 
will to trangress. that makes a transgression of the law. With- 
out will there can be neither obedience nor transgression. Law 
supposes a power to obey or to transgress; it does not take 
away this power, but proposes the motives of duty and of in- 
terest, leaving the power to yield to them, or to take — 


_guence of transgression. eee ts. a 


3dly, Liberty i is opposed to necessity, and in this sense it ex- 
tends to the determinations of the will ‘only, and not to walt is 
consequent to the will. & 8 

In every voluntary action, the lescicmanaie al -of the will is the 
first part of the action, upon which alone the moral estimation 


THE NOTIONS OF MORAL LIBERTY. 177 


ofitdepends. Ithas been made a question among philosophers, 
whether, in every instance, this determination be the necessary 
consequence of the constitution of the person, and the circum- 
stances in which he is placed? or whether he had not power, 
in many cases, to determine this way or that ? 

This has, by some, been called the philosophical notion of 
liberty and necessity ; but itis by no means peculiar to philoso- 
phers. The lowest of the vulgar have, in all ages, been prone 
‘to have recourse to this necessity, to exculpate themselves or 
their frieads in what they do wrong, though, in the general 
tenor of their conduct, they act upon the contrary principle. 

Whether this notion of moral liberty be conceivable or not, 
every man must judge for himself. To me there appears no 
difficulty in conceiving it. 1 consider the determination of the 
will as an effect... This effect must have a cause which had 
power to produce it; and the cause must be either the person 
himself, whose will itis, or some other being. The first is as 
easily conceived as the last. If the person was the cause of 
that determination of his own will, he was free in that action, 
and it is justly imputed to him, whether it be good or bad. But, 
if another being was the cause of this determination, either by 
producing it immediately, or by means and instruments under 
his direction, then the determination is the act and deed of that 
being, and is solely imputable to him. ; 

But it is said, “ That nothing is in our power but what de- 
pends upon the will, and therefore the will itself cannot be in 
our power.” 

I answer, that this is a fallacy arising from taking a common 
saying in a sense which it never was intended to convey, and in 
a sense contrary to what it necessarily implies. 


In common life, when men speak of what is, or is not, .in a 


man’s power, they attend only to the external and visible effects, 
which only can be perceived, and which only can affect them. 
Of these it is true, that nothing is in a man’s power, but what 
depends upon his will, and this 1s all that is meant by this com- 
mon saying. 

But this is so far from excluding his will from being in his 
power, that it necessarily implies it. For to say that what de- 
pends upon the will is in a man’s power, but the will is not in 
his power, is to say that the end is in his power, but the means 
necessary to that end are not in his power, which is a contra- 
diction. 

In many propositions which we express universally, there is 
an exception necessarily implied, and therefore always under- 
stood. Thus when we say that all things depend upon God, 
God himself is necessarily excepted. In like nfanner, when we 
say, that all that is in our power depends upon the will, the will 
itself is necessarily excepted: for if the «will be not, nothing 


2 


Fe 


178 \ ESSAY Iv. 


else can be in our power. Every effect must be in the power 
of its cause. ‘The determination of the will is an effect, and 
therefore must be in the power of its cause, reheien that cause 
be the agent himself, or some other being. 

From what has been said in this chapter, Lhope dplpption of 
moral liberty will be distinctly understood, and that it appears 
that this notion is neither inconceivable, nor involves any ab- 
surdity or contradiction. comer ne 

‘ : : rh wa 


-* 
“ ‘ 


CHAPTER II. 


OF THE ‘WORDS CAUSE AND EFFECT, ACTION AND ACTIVE 
POWER, OF 
THE writings upon hee and necessity have been much 
darkened by the ambiguity of the words used in reasoning upon 
that subject. The words cause and effect, action and active 
power, liberty and necessity, are related to each other: the 
meaning of one determines the meaning of the rest-. When 
we attempt to define them, we can only do it by synonymous 
words which need definition as much. There is a strict sense 
in which those words must be used, if we speak and reason 
clearly about moral liberty ; but to keep to this strict sense is 
difficult, because, in all languages, they have, by custom, got a 
great latitude of signification. 
_ As we cannot reason about moral liberty, wisn using those 


g ambiguous words, it is proper to point out, as distinctly as pos- 


sible, their proper and original meaning, in which they ought te 
be understood in treating of this subject, and to show from what 
causes they have become so ambiguous in all langimgerys as to 
darken and embarrass our reasonings upon it. ay 

Every thing that begins to exist, must have a cause i its exist- 
ence, which had power to give it existence. _ And every thing 
that undergoes any change, must have some cause of that change. 

That neither existence, nor any mode of existence, can begin 
without an efficient cause, is a principle that appears very 
early in the mind of man; and it is so universal, and so firmly 
rooted in buman nature, that the most determined nepienhees 
cannot eradicate it. 

It is upon this principle that we ground the rational beliet of a 
Deity. But that is not the only use to which we apply it. Every 
man’s conduct is governed by it every day, and almost every 
hour of his life. And if it were possible for any man to root 
out this principle from his mind, he must give up every thing 
that is called common prudence, and be fit only to be confined 
as Insane. 


‘ 


‘ 


OP PHE WOBDS CAUSE AND EPFEC€T. 173 


From this principle it follows, that every thing which under- 
goes any change, must either be the efficient cause of that change 
Pritseld or it must be changed by some other being. 

In the first case it is said to have active power, and to act, in 
producing that change. In the second case it is merely passive, 
or is acted upon, and the active power isin that being only which 
produces the change. ; : 

The name of a cause and of an agent, is properly given 
to that being only, which, by its active power, produces some 
change in itself, or in some other being. The change, whether 
it be of thought, of will, or of motion, is the effect. Active 
power, therefore, is a quality in the cause, which enables it to 
produce the effect. And the exertion of that active power in 
producing the effect, is called action, agency, efficiency. 

In order to the production of any effect, there must be in the 
cause, not only power, but the exertion of that power : for 
power that is not exerted produces no effect. 

All that is necessary to the production of any effect, is power 
in an efficient cause to produce the effect, and the exertion of 
that power: for it is a contradiction to say, that the cause has 
power to produce the effect, and exerts that power, and yet the 
effect is not produced. The effect cannot be in his power un- 
less all the means necessary to its production be in his power. 

It is no less a contradiction to say, that a cause has power te 
produce a certain effect, but that he cannot exert that power; 
for power which cannot be exerted is no power, and is a contra- 
diction in terms. 

To prevent mistake, it is proper to observe, that a being may 
have a power at one time which it has not at another. It may 
commonly have a power, which, at a particular time, it has not. 
Thus, a man may commonly have power.to walk or to run ; but 
he has not this power when asleep, or when he is confined by 
superior force. In common language, he may be said to have 
a power which he cannot then exert. But this popular expres- 
sion means only that he commonly has this power, and will have 
it when the cause is removed which at present deprives him of 
it: for, when we speak strictly and philosophically, it is a con- 
tradiction to say that he has this power, at that moment when he 
is deprived of it. 

These, I think, are necessary consequences from the principle 
first mentioned, that every change which happens in nature 
must have an efficient cause which had power to produce it. 

Another principle, which appears very early in the mind of 
man, is, that we are efficient causes in our deliberate and volun- 
tary actions. 

_ We are conscious of making an exertion, sometimes with 
difficulty, in order to produce certain effects. An exertion 
made deliberately and voluntarily, in order to produce an effect. 


180 ESSAX¥ 1V. 


implies a conviction that the effect is in our power. No man 
can deliberately attempt what he does not believe to be in his 
ower. The language of all mankind, and their ordinary con~ 
uct in life, demonstrate, that they havea conviction of some 
active power in themselves to produce certain motions in their 
own and in other bodies, and to regulate and direct their own 
thoughts. This conviction we have so early in life, that we 
have no remembrance when, or in what way we acquired it. 
That such a conviction is at first the necessary result of our 
constitution, and that it can never be entirely obliterated, is, I 
think, acknowledged by one of the most zealous defenders of 
necessity. Free Discussion, &c. p. 298. “Such are the influ- 
ences to which all mankind, without distinction, are exposed, 
that they necessarily refer actions, | mean refer them ultimately, 
first of all to themselves and others; and it isa long time before 
they begin to consider themselves and others as instruments in 
the hand of a superior agent. Consequently, the associations 
which refer actions to themselves, get so confirmed; that-they 
are never entirely obliterated; and therefore the common lan- 
guage, and the common feelings of mankind, will be adapted to 
the first, the limited and imperfect, or rather erroneous, view of 
things.”’ lac Ages ectite quan 
It is very probable, that the very conception oridea of active 
power, and of efficient causes, is derived from our voluntary 
exertions in producing effects ; and that, if we were not conscious 
of such exertions, we should have no conception at all of a cause 
or of active power, and consequently no conviction of the ne- 
cessity of a cause of every change which we observe in nature. 


+ Ttis certain that we can conceive no kind of active power but 


what is similar or analogous to-that which we attribute to our- 
selves; that is,a power which is exerted by will and with under- 
standing. Our notion, even of Almighty power, is derived from 
the notion of human power, by removing from the former those 
imperfections and limitations to which the latteris subjected. 
_ Itmay be difficult to explain the origin of our conceptions and » 
belief concerning efficient causes and active power. The» 
common theory, that all our ideas are ideas of sensation or 
reflection, and that all our belief isa perception of the agree- 
ment or the disagreement of those ideas, appears to be repugnant, 
both to the idea of an efficient cause, and to the belief of its 
necessity. ) ull 
An attachment to that theory has led some philosophers to 
deny that we have any conception of an efficient cause, or of 
active power, because efficiency and active power are not ideas, 
either of sensation or reflection. They maintain, therefore, 
that a cause is only something prior to the effect, and constantly 
conjoined with it. This is Mr. Hume’s notion of a cause, and 
seems to be adopted by Dr. Priestley, who says, “ That a cause 


OF THE WGRDS CAUSE AND EFFECT. 181 


cannot be defined to be any thing, but such previous circumstances 
as are constantly followed by acertain effect, the constancy of the 
result making us conclude, that there must be a sufficient reason, 


‘in the nature of the things, why it should be produced in those 


circumstances.” . : 

But theory ought to stoop to fact, and not fact to theory. 
Every man who understands the language knows, that neither 
priority, nor constant conjunction, nor both taken together, 
imply efficiency. Every man, free from prejudice, must assent 
to what Cicero has said: ltaque non sic causa intelligi debet, ut 
quod cuique antecedat, id et causa sit, sed quod cuique efficienter 
antecedit. 

The very dispute, whether we have the conception of an 
efficient cause, shows that we have. For though men may 
dispute about things which have no existence, they cannot dis- 
pute about things of which they have no conception. 

What has been said in this chapter is intended to show, that 
the conception of causes, of action, and of active power, in the 
strict and proper sense of these words, is found in the minds of 
all men very early, even in the dawn of their rational life. Itis 
therefore probable, that, in all languages, the words by which 
these conceptions were expressed were at first distinct and un- 
ambiguous, yet it is certain, that, among the most enlightened 
nations, these words are applied to so many things of different 
natures, and used in so vague a manner, that itis very difficult 
to reason about them distinctly. 

This phenomenon, at first view, seems very unaccountable. 
But alittle reflection may satisfy us, that it is a natural conse- 
quence of the slow and gradual progress of human knowledge. 


And since the ambiguity of these words has so great influence 


upon our reasoning about moral liberty, and furnishes the 
strongest objections against it, it is not foreign to our subject to 
show whence it arises. When we know the causes that have 
produced this ambiguity, we shall be less in danger of being 


misled by it, and the proper and strict meaning of the words wills, 
iid a ais 


more evidently appear. 


VOL. If. 9A 


182 


’ 9 aitrd hoy 
ae Mee ates. | 
CHAPTER: HRV? 
ee ¢ 0 eae ay 
' 6AUSES OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 
+ APSR RY 1 5 


-WHEN we turn our attention to external objeets, and begin 
to exercise our rational faculties about them, we find, that there 
are some motions and changes in them, which we have p 
to produce, and that they have many which must ee 
cause. Either the objects must have life and active power, as 
we have, or they must be moved or changed by something that 
has life and active power, as external objects are moved by use _ 

Our first thoughts seem to be, that the objects in. which we 
perceive such motion have understanding and active power as 
we have. . 1 ih es SRS He engas 

‘ Savages,’”” says the Abbé Raynal, “ wherever they see 
motion which they cannot account for, there they suppose a 
soul.”? Lr eee rene 4 aii Cie 

All men may be considered as savages in this respect, until 
they are capable of instruction, and of using their faculties ina 
more perfect manner than savages do, isttrgsac Dibra digdanste 

The rational conversations of birds and beasts in. Aisop’s 
Fables do not shock the belief of children. To themthey have 
that probability which we require in an epic poem. Poets give us 
a great deal of pleasure, by clothing every object with intellec- 
tual and moral attributes, in metaphor and in other figures. May 
not the pleasure which we take in this poetical language, arise, 
+ in part, from its correspondence with our earliest sentiments ? 
However this may be, the Abbé Raynal’s observation is 
sufficiently confirmed, both from fact, and from the structure of 
all languages. 1) oy Goch ei eR A 

Rude nations do really believe sun, moon, and stars, earth, sea, 
and air, fountains and lakes, to have understanding| and active 
power. To pay homage to them, and implore their favour, is a. 
kind of idolatry natural to savages. Hb dish ge 

A}l languages carry in their structure the marks of their being 
formed when this belief prevailed. The distinction of verbs 
and participles into active and passive, which is found in all 
languages, must have been originally intended to distinguish what 
is really active, from what is merely passive ; and in all langaa- 
ges, we find active verbs applied to those objects, in which, 
according to the Abbé Raynal’s observation, savages suppose a 
Boulet hk oa eloben? 

Thus we say,'the sun rises and sets, and comes to the meridian, 
the moon changes, the sea ebbs and flows, the winds blow. 
Languages were formed by men who believed these objects to 
have life and active power in themselves. It was therefore 


OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 183 


proper and natural to express their motions and changes by 
active verbs. 

There is no surer way of tracing the sentiments of nations 
‘before they have records than by the structure of their language, 
which, notwithstanding the changes produced in it by time, will 
always retain some signatures of the thoughts of those by whom 
it was invented. When we find the same sentiments indicated 
in the structure of all languages, those sentiments must have 
been common to the human species when languages were in- 
vented. 

When a few of superior intellectual abilities find leisure for 
speculation, they begin to philosophize, and soon discover, that 
many of those objects which, at first, they believed to be intel- 
ligent and active, are really lifeless and passive. This is a very 
important discovery. It elevates the mind, emancipates from 
_ many vulgar superstitions, and invites to further discoveries of 
the same kind.” 

As philosophy advances, lifeand activity in natural objects 
retire, and leave them dead and inactive, Instead of moving 
voluntarily, we find them to be moved necessarily ; instead of 
acting, we find them to be acted upon ; and nature appears as 
one great machine, where one wheel is turned by another, that 
by a third; and how far this necessary succession may reach, 
the philosopher does not know. 

The weakness of human reason makes men prone, when they 
leave one extreme, to rush into the opposite; and thus philoso- 
phy, even in its infancy, may lead men from idolatry and 
polytheism, into atheism, and from ascribing active power to 
inanimate beings, to conclude all things to be carried on by ne- 
cessity. 

_» Whatever origin we ascribe to the doctrines of atheism, and 
of fatal necessity, it is certain, that both may be traced almost 
as far back as philosophy ; and both appear to be the opposites 
of the earliest sentiments of men. 

~ It must have been by the observation and reasoning of the 
speculative few, that those objects were discovered to be inani- 
mate and inactive, to which the many ascribed life and activity. 
But while the few, are convinced of this, they must speak the 
language of the many in order to be understood. So we see, 
that when the Ptolemaic system of astronomy, which agrees 
with vulgar prejudice, and with vulgar language, has been 
universally rejected, by philosophers, they continue to use the 
phraseology that is grounded upon it, not only in speaking to 
the vulgar, but in speaking to one another. They say, the sun 
rises and sets, and moves annually through all the signs of 
the zodiac, while they believe that he never leaves his place. 
- In like manner, those active verbs and participles, which were 
applied to the inanimate objects of nature, when they were 


ihe 


ae 
e 


184. ESSAY 1V. 


believed to be really active continue to be applied to them after 
they are discovered to be passive. i* Ma botipuads “eg 
The forms of language, once established by custom, are not 
so easily changed as the notions on which meses <n commmel 
founded. While the sounds remain, their signification is gra- 
dually enlarged or altered. This is sometimes found, even in 
those sciences in which the signification of words is the most 
accurate and precise. Thus, in arithmetic, the word nwnber, 
among the ancients, always signified so many units, and it would 
have been absurd to apply it either to unity, orto any part of 
an unit; but now we call unity, or any part of unity, a nwmber. 
With them, multiplication always increased a number, and divi- 
sion diminished it; but we speak of multiplying by a fraction, 
which diminishes, and of dividing by a fraction, which increases 
the number. We speak of dividing or multiplying by unity, 
which neither diminishes nor increasesa number. ‘These forms 
of expression in the ancient language would have been absurd. 
By such changes, ian the meaning of words, the language of 
every civilized nation resembles old furniture new modelled, in 
which many things are put to uses for which they were not 
originally intended, and for which they were not perfectly fitted. 
This is one great cause of the imperfection of language, and 
it appears very remarkably in those verbs and participles which 
are active in their form, but are frequently used so as to have 
nothing active in their signification. Wee hy 
_ Hence we are authorized by custom to ascribe action and 
active power to things which we believe to be passive. ‘The 
proper and original signification of every word, which at first 
signified action and causation, is buried and lost under that vague 
meaning which custom has affixed to it.’ sed VA eet 
That there is a real distinction, and perfect opposition between 
acting and being acted upon, every man may be satisfied who is 
capable of reflection. And that this distinction is perceived by 
all men as soon as they begin to reason, appears by the distinction 
between active and passive verbs, which is original in all lan- 
guages, though from the causes that have been mentioned, they, 
come to be confounded in the progress of human improvement. 
Another way in which philosophy has contributed very much 
to the ambiguity of the words under our consideration, deserves 
to be mentioned. 6: oat db sera 
The first step into natural philosophy, and what has common- 
ly been considered as its ultimate end, is the investigation of 
the causes of the phenomena of nature; that is, the causes of 
those appearances in nature which are not the effects of human 
power. Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, is the senti- 
ment of every mind that has a turn to speculation, 
The knowledge of the causes of things promises no less the 
enlargement of human power than the gratification of human 


ee. 


OP THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 185 


curiosity; and therefore, among the enlightened part of man- 
kind, this knowledge has been pursued in all ages with an avi- 
dity proportioned to its importance. , 

In nothing does the difference between the intellectual powers 
of man, and those of brutes appear ’more conspicuous than in- 
this. For in them we perceive no desire to investigate the 
causes of things, nor indeed any sign that they have the proper 
notion of a cause. 

There is reason, however, to apprehend, that, in this investi- 
gation, men have wandered much in the dark, and that their 
success has by no means been equal to their desire and expecta- 
tion. 

We easily discover an established order and connexion in the 
phenomena of nature. We learn, in many cases, from what has 
happened, to know what will happen. The discoveries of this 
kind, made by common observation, are many, and are the 
foundation of common prudence in the conduct of life. Philo- 
sophers, by more accurate observation aud experiment, have 
made many more ; by which arts are improved, and human 
power, as well as human knowledge is enlarged. 

But, as to the real causes of the phenomena of nature, how lit- 
tle do we know ? All our knowledge of things external, must be 
grounded upon the information of our senses; but causation and 
active power are not objects of sense; nor is that always the 
cause of a phenomena which is prior to it, and constantly con- 
joined with it ; otherwise night would be the cause of day, and 
day the cause of the following night. 

It is to this day problematical, whether al] the phenomena of 
the material system be produced by the immediate operation of 
the First Cause, according to the laws which his wisdom deter- 
mined, or whether subordinate causes are employed by him in 
the operations of nature; and if they be, what their nature, 
and their different offices are ? And whether, in all cases, they 
act by commission, or, in some, according to their discretion ? 

When we are so much in the dark with regard to the real 
cause of the phenomena of nature, and have a strong desire to 
know them, it is not strange, that ingenious men should form 
numberless conjectures and theories, by which the soul, hunger- 
ing for knowledge, is fed with chaff instead of wheat. 

In a very ancient system, love and strife were made the causes 
of things. Inthe Pythagorean and Platonic system, matter, 
ideas, and an intelligent mind. By Aristotle, matter, form, and 
privation. Des Cartes thought, that matter and a certain quan- 
tity of motion given at first by the Almighty, are suflicient to 
account for all the phenomena of the natural world. Leibnitz, 
that the universe is made up of monades, active and percipient, 
which, by their active power received at first, produce all the 
changes they undergo. 


re 


186 ESSAY IV. ; o 


While men thus wandered inthe dark in search of causes, 
unwilling to confess their disappointment, they vainly conceived 
every thing they stumbled upon to be a cause, and the proper 
notion of a cause is lost, by giving the name to tiuinberless things 
pe neither are, nor can be causes. Ip 

‘ This confusion of various things under the name of causes, is 
the more easily tolerated, because, however hurtful it may be to 


‘sound philosophy, it has ‘little influence upon the concerns of 


life. A constant antecedent, or concomitant, of the phenome- 
non whose cause is sought, may answer the purpose of the’ in- 
guirer, as well as if the real cause were known. ~'Thus a sailor 
desires to know the cause of the tides, that he may know when 
to expect high water: he is told that it is high water when the 
moon is so many hours past the meridian : ‘and now he ‘thinks 
he knows the cause of the tides. What he takes for ‘theveause 
answers his purpose, and his mistake does him*no harm.) ~ 
Those philosophers seem to have had the justest views’ f 
nature, as well as the weakness of human understanding, who, 
giving up the pretence of discovering the causes of the opera- 
tions of nature, have applied themselves to discover by observa- 
tion and experiment, the rules, or laws of nature according to 
which the phenomena of nature are produced. ©) ye 8 oe 
In compliance with custom, or perhaps, to gratify the avidity 
of knowing the causes of things, we call the laws of nature 
causes and active powers. So we speak of the powers of gra- 


vitation, of magnetism, of electricity. ES SES ARC AOS ye) 


‘We call them causes of many of the phenomena of nature’; 
and such they are esteemed by the ignorant, and by the half. 
learned. UST PRD ay 

But those of juster discernment see, that laws of nature are 
not agents. They are not endowed with active power, and there- 
fore cannot be causes in the proper sense. ‘They are only the 
rules according to which the unknown cause acts. © 

_ Thus it appears, that our natural desire to know the causes of 


the phenomena of nature, our inability to discover them, and — 


the vain theories of philosophers employed in this search, ‘have 
made the word cause, and the related words, so ambiguous, and 
to signify so many things of different natures, that they have in 


‘a manner lost their proper and original meaning, jaadivetiene 


have no other words to express it. Gade 
Every thing joined with the effect, and prior to it, is calledbite 
cause. An instrameat, an occasion, a reason, a motive, an end, 
are called causes. And the related words effect, agen er, 
are extended in the same vague manner. 1 are 
Were it not that the terms cause and agent have Tost their 
proper meaning in the crowd of meanings that have been given 
them, we should immediately perceive a contradiction in the 


_ terms necessary cause, and necessary agent. And although the 


: 


. OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 187 

joose meaning of those words is authorized by custom, the arbi- 
ter of language, and therefore cannot be censured, perhaps 
cannot always be avoided, yet we ought to be upon our guard, 
that we be not misled by it to conceive things to be the same 
which are essentially different. 
_ To say that man is a free agent, is no more than to say, that 
in some instances he is truly an agent and a cause, and is not 
merely acted upon as a passive instrument. On the contrary, 
to say that he acts from necessity, is to say that he does not act 
at all, that he is no agent, and that, for any thing we know, there 
is only one agent in the universe, who does every thing that is 
done, whether it be good or ill. 

If this necessity be attributed evento the Deity, the conse- 
quence must be, that there neither is, nor can be,a cause at all ; 
that nothing acts, but every thing is acted upon ; nothing moves, 
but every thing is moved ; all is passion without action; all in- 
strument without an agent ; and that every thing thatis, or was, 
or shall be, has that necessary existence in its season, which we 
commonly consideras the prerogative of the First Cause. 

This | take to be the genuine, and the most tenable system of 
necessity. It was the system of Spinoza, though he was not the 
first that advanced it; for it is very ancient. And if this system 
be true, our reasoning to prove the existence of a first cause of 
every thing that begins to exist, must be given up as fallacious. 

If it be evident to the human understanding, as I take it to 
be, that what begins to exist must have an efficient cause, which 
had power to, give or not fo give it existence; and if it be true, 
that effects well and wisely fitted for the best purposes, demon- 
strate intelligence, wisdom, and goodness, in the efficient cause, 
as well as power, the proof of a Deity from these principles is 
very easy and obvious toall men that can reason. 

_-If, on the other hand, our belief that every thing that begins 
to exist has a cause, be got only by experience; and if, as Mr. 
Hume maintains, the ouly notion of a cause be something prior. 
to the effect, which experience has shown to be constantly con- Sage 
joined with such an effect, 1 see not how, from these principles, 

it is possible to prove the existence of an intelligent cause of 

the universe. ; 

Mr. Hume seems to me to reason justly from his definition of 
a cause, when in the person of an Epicurean, he maintains, that 
with regard to a cause of the universe, we can conclude nothing; 
because it isa singular effect. We have no experience that 
such effects are always conjoined with sucha cause. Nay, the 
cause which we assign to this effect, isa cause which no man has 
seen, nor can see, and therefore experience cannot inform us 
that it has ever been conjoined with any effect. He seems tome 
to reason justly from this definition of a cause, when he main- 


a 


188 ESSAY 1V. ; 
tains, that any thing may be the cause of any things since prio- 
rity a and constant conjunction is all that can be conceived in the 
notion of a cause. 1 adh 1 ia atic, widlata 
_ Another zealous defender of the doctrine of necessity says, 
that “ A cause cannot be delined to be any thing but such previ- 
ous circumstances as are constantly followed by a certain: effect ; 
the constancy of the result making us conclude, that there must 
be a sufficient reason, in the nature of things, why it should be 
Produced 3 in those circumstances.” ». 4) 4 i od WOR 
This seems to me to be Mr. Hume’s debniteers of a cause in 
other words, and neither more nor less ; but I am far from think- 
ing that the author of it will admit the consequences which Mr. » 
Hume draws from it, however bapleeaiciigss may appear ta 
others. . + baggie Kindo ah bibiahaghiane ee 
i ; . 4 te ape Cay se NR 5 
Oh) seems 9 geo aane Yo 
, a seh asd ede natyl bess i 
CHAPTER TV) Ooh atin mame 
: het DP iy ° an ee) 94 
OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES: 4) 
PNG: tal 4 el : 
“!THE modern, advocates for the do¢trine of necessity lay the 
stress of their cause upon the influence of motives.) 9) 9) 
“‘ Every deliberate action,”’ they say, “‘ must have a motive. 
When there is no motive on the other side, this motive mustde-. 
termine the agent : when there are contrary motives, the strong- 
est must prevail: we reason from men’s motives to their actions, 
as we do from other ‘causes to their effects: if man be a free 
agent, and be not governed by motives, all his actions must be” 
mere caprice, rewards and punishments can have no effect, and. 
such a being must be absolutely ungovernable.” =) 5s 
In order therefore to understand distinctly, in whekeonde seer 
ascribe moral liberty to man, it is necessary to understand what. 
influence we allow to motives. To prevent misunderstanding, ' 
which has been very common upon this point, I offerthe follow- 
ing observations. Np ART ae, De 
ist, I grant that all rational beings are influenced, and ought to 
be influenced by motives. But the influence of motives is of a 
very different nature from that of efficient causes. . They are, 
neither causes nor agents. ‘They suppose an Peper iver By: 
and can do nothing without it. We cannot, without absurdity. 
suppose a motive, either to act, or to be acted upon; me As equal 
incapable of action and of passion ; because it is not a thi 
exists, but a thing that is conceived ; it is what the schooln 
called an ens rationis. Motives, therefore, may influence to ac- | 
tion, but they do not act. ‘They may be compared. to advice, or) 


exhortation, which leaves a man still at sehen aie vain is 
; ae 


OF THE INFLUENCE ‘OF M@TIVES. 189 


advice given when there is not a power either to do, or to for- 
bear, what it recommends. In like manner, motives suppose 
liberty in the agent, otherwise they have no influence at all. 

Itis a law of nature, with respect to matter, that every motion, 
and change of motion, is proportional to the force impressed, and 
in the direction of that force. The scheme of necessity supposes 
a sitnilar law to obtain in all the actions of intelligent beings ; 
which, with little alteration, may be expressed thus: every ac- 
tion, or change of action, in an intelligent being, is proportional 
to the force of motives impressed, and in the direction of that 
force. 

The law of nature respecting matter, is grounded upon this 
principle, that matter is an inert, inactive substance, which does 
not act, but is acted upon; and the law of necessity must be 
grounded upon the supposition, that an intelligent being is an 
inert, inactive substance, which does not act, but is acted upon. 

2dly, Rational beings, in proportion as they are wise and good, 
will act according to the best motives ; and every rational being, 
who does otherwise, abuses his liberty. The most perfect being, 
in every thing where there is a right and a wrong, a better anda 
worse, always infallibly acts according to the best motives. This 
indeed is little else thanan identical proposition : for it is a con- 
tradiction to say, that a perfect being does what is wrong or un- 
reasonable. But to say, that he does not act freely, beGause he 
always does what is best, is to say, that the proper use of liberty 
destroys liberty, and that liberty consists only in its abuse. 

The moral perfection_of the Deity consists, not in having 
no power to do ill, otherwise, as Dr. Clark justly observes, there 
would be no ground to thank him for his goodness.to us any more 
than for his eternity or immensity ; but his moral perfection con- 
sists in this, that when he has power to do every thing, a power 
which cannot be resisted, he exerts that power only in doing what 
is wisest and best. ‘To be subject to necessity is to have no 
power at all ; for power and necessity are opposites. We grant, 
therefore, that motives have influence, similar to that of advice 
or persuasion; but this influence is perfectly consistent with 
liberty, and indeed supposes liberty. 

3dly, Whether every deliberate action must have a motive, de- 
pends on the meaning we put upon the word deliberate. If, by a 
deliberate action, we mean anaction wherein motives are weighed, 
which seems to be the original meaning of the word, surely there 
must be motives, and contrary motives, otherwise they could not 
be weighed. But if a deliberate action means only, as it com- 
monly does, an action done by a cool and calm determination of 
the mind with forethought and will, I believe there are innume- 
rable such actions done without a motive. 

This must be appealed to every man’s consciousness. I de 
many trifling actions every day, in which, upon the most careful 

VObe HI. 25 


ae 
* oan 


~t 


190 ESSAY IV. 


reflection, | am conscious of no motive; and to say that I may 
be influenced by a motive of which I am not conscious, is, in the 
first place, an arbitrary supposition without any evidence, and 
then, it is to say, that | may be convinced by an argument which 
never entered into my thought. ites 

Cases frequently occur, in which an end, that is of some im- 
portance, may be answered equally well by any one of several 
different means. In such cases,a man who intends the end finds 
hot the least difficulty in taking one of these means, though he 
be firmly persuaded, that it has no title to be preferred to any of 
the others. ‘3 


Tosay that this is a case that cannot happen, is to contradict 


the experience of mankind ; for surely a man who has occasion 
to lay out a shilling, or a guinea, may have two hundred that are 
of equal value, both to the giver and to the receiver, any one of. 
which will answer his purpose equally well. Tosay, that if such 
acase should happen, the man could not execute his purpose, is 
still more ridiculous, though it have the authority of some 
of the schoolmen, who determined, that the ass, between two 
equal bundles of hay, would stand still till it died of hunger. 

If a man could not act without a motive, he would have no 
power at all ; for motives are not in our power, and he that has 
not power over a necessary mean, has not power over the end. 

That an action, done without any motive, can neither have 
merit nor demerit, is much insisted on by the writers for neces- 
sity, and triumphantly, as if it were the very hinge of the contro- 
versy. I grant it to be a self-evident proposition, and I know 
no author that ever denied it. 

How insignificant soever, in moral estimation, the actions may 
be which are done without any motive, they are of moment in 
the question concerning moral liberty. For, if there ever was 
any action of this kind, motives are not the sole causes of human 
actions. And if we have the power of acting without a motive, 


that power, joined to a weaker motive, may counterbalance a - 


stronger. ‘ 

Athly, It can never be proved, that when there is a motive 
on one side only, that motive must determine the action, 
_ According to the laws of reasoning, the proof is incumbent 
on those who hold the affirmative; and I have never seen a 
shadow of argument, which does not take for granted the 
thing in question, to wit, that motives are the sole causes of 
actions. at 

Is there no such thing as wilfulness, caprice, or obstinacy, 
among mankind? If there be not, it is wonderful that they 
should have names in all Janguages. If there be sueh things, a 
single motive, or even many motives, may be resisted. 

5thly, When it is said, that of contrary motives the strongest 


always prevails, this can neither be affirmed nor denied with an- - 


OF THE INFLUENCE GF MOTIVES. 191 


derstanding, until we know distinctly what is meant by the 
strongest motive. 

_ Ido not find, that those who have advanced this as a self- 
evident axiom, have ever attempted to explain what they mean 
by the strongest motive, or have given any rule by which we 
may judge which of two motives is the strongest. 

How shall we know whether the strongest motive always 
prevails, if we know not which is strongest? There must be 
some test by which their strength is to be tried, some balance in 
which they may be weighed, otherwise, to say that the strongest 
motive always prevails, is to speak without any meaning. We 
must therefore search for this test, or balance, since they who 
have laid so much stress upon this axiom, have left us wholly in 
the dark as to its meaning. I grant, that when the contrary 
motives are of the same kind, and differ only in quantity, it 
may be easy to say which is the strongest. Thus a bribe of a 
thousand pounds is a stronger motive than a bribe of a hundred 
pounds. But when the motives are of different kinds, as money 
and fame, duty and worldly interest, health and strength, riches 
and honour, by what rule shall we judge which is the strongest 
motive ? 

Either we measure the strength of motives, merely by 
their prevalence, or by some other standard distinct from thew 
prevalence. K 

If we measure their strength merely by their prevalence, 
and by the strongest motive mean only the motive that prevails, 
it will be true indeed that the strongest motive prevails ; but 
the proposition will be identical, and mean no more than that 
the strongest motive is the strongest motive. From this surely 
no conclusion can be drawn. 

If it should be said, that by the strength of a motive is not 
meant its prevalence, but the cause of its prevalence ; that we 
measure the cause by the effect, and from the superiority of 
the effect conclude the superiority of the cause, as we conclude 
that to be the heaviest weight which bears down the scale: I 
answer, that, according to this explication of the axiom, it 
takes for granted that motives are the causes, and the sole 
causes of actions. Nothing is left to the agent, but to be acted 
upon by the motives, as the balance is by the weights. The 
axiom supposes, that the agent does not act, but is acted upon; 
and, from this supposition, it is concluded that he does not act. 
This is to reason in a circle, or rather it is not reasoning, but 
begging the question. 

Contrary motives may very properly be compared to 

advocates pleading the opposite sides of a cause at the bar. It 
would be very weak reasoning to say, that such an advocate is 
the most powerful pleader, because sentence was given. on his 


Ci, 


192 ESSAY IV. 


side. The sentence is in the power of the judge, not of the 
advocate. It is equally weak reasoning, in proof of necessity, 
to say, such a motive prevailed, therefore it is the strongest; 
since the defenders of liberty maintain that the determination 
was made by the man, and not by the motive. 

We are therefore brought to this issue, that unless some 
measure of the strength of motives can be found distinct from 
their prevalence, it cannot be determined, whether the strongest 
motive always prevails ornot. If such a measure can be found 
and applied, we may be able to judge of the truth of this 
maxim, but not otherwise. - ; 

Every thing that can be called a motive, is addressed either 
to the animal or to the rational part of our nature. Motives of 
the former kind are common to us with the brutes: those of 
the latter are peculiar to rational beings. We shall beg leave, 
for distinction’s sake, to call the former animal motives, and the 
latter rational. . 

Hunger is a motive in a dog to eat; soisitinaman. Ac- 
cording to the strength of the appetite, it gives a stronger or a 
weaker impulse to eat. And the same thing may be said of 
every other appetite and passion. Such animal motives give 
an impulse to the agent, to which he yields with ease ; and, if 
the impulse be strong, it cannot be resisted without an effort 
which requires a greater or a less degree of self-command. 
Such motives are not addressed to the rational powers. Their 
influence is immediately upon the will. We feel their influence, 
and judge of their strength, by the conscious effort which is 
necessary to resist them. 

When a man.is acted upon by contrary motives of this kind, 
he finds it easy to yield to the strongest. ‘They are like two 
forces pushing him in contrary directions. To yield to the 
strongest, he needs only to be passive. By exerting his own 
force, he may resist ; but this requires an effort of which he is 
conscious. The strength of motives of this kind is perceived, 
not by our judgment, but by our feeling; and that is the 
strongest of contrary motives, to which he can yield with ease, 

_ or which it requires an effort of self-command to resist; and 
|, this we may Cal] the animal test of the strength of motives. ~ 
ey pie it be asked, whether, in motives of this kind, the 
i _ strongest always prevails? I answer, that in brute animals 1 

"believe it does. They do not appear to have any self-command ; 

an appetite or passion in them is overcome only by a stronger 
contrary one. On this account, they are not accountable for 
their actions, nor can they be the subjects of law. 

But in men who are able to exercise their rational powers, 
and have any degree of self-command, the strongest animal 
motive does not always prevail. The flesh does not always 


ee ee 


¢ 


OP THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 198 


prevail against the spirit, though too often it does. And if 
men were necessarily determined by the strongest animal 
motive, they could no more be accountable, or capable of 
being governed by law, than brutes are. - 

_ Let us next consider rational motives, to which the name of 
motive is more commonly and more properly given. Their 
influence is upon the judgment, by convincing us that such an 
action ought to be done, that it is our duty, or conducive to our 
real good, or to some end which we have determined to pursue. 

They do not give a blind impulse to the will, as animal 
motives do. They convince, but they do not impel, unless, as 
may often happen, they excite some passion of hope, or fear, 
or desire. Such passions may be excited by conviction, and 
may operate in its aid as other animal motives do. But there 
may be conviction without passion; and the conviction of what 
we ought to do, in order to some end which we have judged fit 
to be pursued, is what [ call a rational motive. 


Brutes, | think, cannot be influenced by such motives. They — 


have not the conception of ought and ought not. Children 
acquire these conceptions as their rational powers advance ; 
and they are found in all of ripe age, who have the human 
faculties. 

If there be any competition between rational motives, it is 
evident, that the strongest, in the eye of reason, is that which 
it is most our duty and our real happiness to follow. Our duty 
and our real happiness are ends which are inseparable ; and they 
are the ends which every man, endowed with reas6n, is conscious 
he ought to pursue in preference to all others. This we may 
call the rational test of the strength of motives. A motive which 
is the strongest, according to the animal test, may be, and very 
often is, the weakest according to the rational. 


The grand and the important competition of contrary motives 


is between the animal, on the one hand, and the rational on the 
other. This is the conflict between the flesh and the spirit, 
upon the event of which the character of men depends. 

If it be asked, which of these is the strongest motive ? The 


answer is, that the first is commonly strongest. when they are 


tried by the animal test. Ifit were not so. human life would be 
no state of ‘trial.. It would not be a warfare, nor would virtue 


require any effort or self-command. No man would have any 
temptation todo wrong. But, when we try the contrary motives” 


by the rational test, it is evident, that the rational motive is 
always the strongest. 
And now, I think it appears, that the strongest motive, 
according to either of the tests I have mentioned, does not always 
prevail. ins 
In every wise and virtuous action;the motive that prevails is 
the strongest, according to the rational test, but commonly the 


eLe 


194 ESSAY IY. 


weakest according tothe animal. In every foolish, and in every 


Vicious action, the motive that prevails is commonly the strongest — 


according to the animal test, but always the weakest according 
to the rational. W 


6thly, It is true, that we reason from men’s motives’ to their 
actions, and, in many cases, with great probability, but never 


with absolute certainty. And to infer from this, that men are 
necessarily determined by motives, is very weak reasoning. 
For, let us suppose for a moment, that men have mora} liberty, 


I would ask, what use may they be expected to make of this — 


liberty? It may surely be expected, that of the various actions 
within the sphere of their power, they will choose what pleases 
them most for the present, or what appears to be most for their 


real, though distant good. When there is a competition between 
these motives, the foolish will prefer present gratification; the — 


wise, the greater and more distant good, 
Now, is not this the very way in which we see men act? Is it 
not from the presumption that they act in this way, that we rea- 


son from their motive to their actions? Surely it is. Is it not — 


weak reasoning, therefore, to argue, that men have not liberty, 
because they act in that very way in which they would act if 
they had liberty ? It would surely be more like reasoning, to 
draw the contrary conclusion from the same premisses. 

7thly, Nor is it better reasoning to conclude, that, if men are 


not necessarily determined by motives, all their actions must be — 


capricious. 


To resist the strongest animal motives when. duty requires, is — 


so far from being capricious, that it is, in the highest degree, 


wise and virtuous. And we hope this is often done by good men. — 
Tc act against rational motives, must always be foolish, vicious, — 


or capricious. And it cannot be denied that there are too many 
such actionsdone. Butisit reasonable toconclude, that because 
liberty may be abused by the foolish and the vicious, therefore 


it can never be put to its proper use, which is to act wisely and — 


virtuously ? 

8thly, Itis equally unreasonable to conclude, that if men are 
not necessarily determined by motives, rewards and punish- 
ments would have no effect. With wise men they will have 
their due effect ; but not always with the foolish and the 
vicious. 

Let us consider what effect rewards and punishments do 


really, and in fact, produce, and what may be inferred from that — 


effect, upon each of the opposite systems of liberty and of 
necessity. y 

I take it for granted that, in fact, the best and wisest laws, both 
human and divine, are often transgressed, notwithstanding the 
rewards and punishments that are annexed to them. If any man 
should deny this fact, I know not how to reason with him. 


4 


LIBERTPY CONSISTENT WiTH GOVERNMENT. 195 


From this fact, it may be inferred with certainty, upon the 
supposition of necessity, that, in every instance of transgression, 
the motive of reward or punishment was not of sufficient strength 
to produce obedience to the law. This implies a fault in the 
lawgiver ; but there can be no fault in the transgressor, who acts 
mechanically by the force of motives. We might as well im- 
pute a fault to the balance, when it does not raise a weight of 
two pounds by the force of one pound. 

Upon the supposition of necessity, there can be neither re- 
ward nor punishment, in the proper sense, as those words imply 
good andill desert. Reward and punishment are only tools em- 
ployed to produce a mechanical effect. When the effect is not 
produced, the tooi must be unfit or wrong applied. 

Upon the supposition of liberty, rewards and punishments will 
have a proper effect upon the wise and the good; but not so upon 
the foolish and the vicious, when opposed by their animal passions 
or bad habits; and this is just what we see to be the fact. Up- 
on this supposition, the transgression of the law implies no de- 
fect in the law, no fault in the lawgiver ; the fault is solely in the 
transgressor. And it is upon this supposition only, that there 
can be either reward or punishment in the proper sense of the 
words, because it is only on this supposition that there can be 
good or ill desert. 


CHAPTER V. 
LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENT. 


WHEN it issaid that liberty would make us absolutely ungo- 
vernable by God or man ; to understand the strength of this con- 
clusion, itis necessary to know distinctly what is meant by go- 
vernment. ‘There are two kinds of government, very different 
in their nature. The one we may, for distinction’s sake, call 
mechanical government, the other moral. The first is the govern- 
ment of beings which have no active power, but are merely 
passive and acted upon ; the second, of intelligent and active 
beings. 

An instance of mechanical government may be, that of a mas- 
ter or commander of a ship at sea. Supposing her skilfully 
built, and furnished with every thing proper for the destined 
voyage, to govern her properly for this purpose requires much art ~ 
and attention : and. as every art has its rules, or Jaws, so has this. 
B whom are those laws to be obeyed, or those rules ob- 

 SerWed ? not by the ship, surely, for she is an inactive being, but 
by the governor. A sailor may say that she does not obey the 
rudder : and he has a distinct meaning when he says so, and is 


19b. ESSAY IV. 


perfectly understood. But he means not obedience in the pro- 
per, but in a metaphorical sense : for, in the proper sense, the — 


ship can no more obey the rudder, than she can give a command. 
Every motion, both of the ship and rudder, is exactly propor- 
tioned to the force impressed, and in the direction of that force. 
The ship never disobeys the laws of motion, even in the metapho- 
rical sense ; and they are the only laws she can be subject to. 

The sailor, perhaps, curses her for not obeying the rudder ; 
but this is not the voice of reason, but of passion, like that of the 
losing gamester, when he curses the dice. The ship is as inno- 
cent as the dice. 

Whatever may happen during the voyage, whatever may be its 
issue, the ship, in the eye of reason, is neither an object of ap- 
probation nor of blame ; because she does not act, but is acted 
upon. If the material, in any part, be faulty ; who put it to that 
use ? If the form; who made it? If the rules of navigation were 
not observed ; who transgressed them? If a storm occasioned 
any disaster, it was no more in the power of the ship than of the 
master. 

Another instance to illustrate the nature of mechanical go- 
vernment may be, that of the man who makes and exhibits a 
puppet show. The puppets, in all their diverting gesticulations, 
do not move, but are moved by an impulse secretly conveyed, 
which they cannot resist. If they do not play their parts proper- 
ly, the fault is only in the maker or manager of the machinery. 
Too much or too little force was applied, orit was wrong direct- 
ed. No reasonable man imputes either praise or blame to the 
puppets, but solely to their maker or their governor. eee 


If we suppose for a moment, the puppets to be endowed with 


understanding and will, but without any degree of active power, 
this will make no change in the nature of their government; for 
understanding and will, without some degree of active power, 
can produce no effect. They might, upon this supposition, be 
called intelligent machines ; but they would be machines still, as 
much subject to the laws of motion as inanimate matter, and 
therefore incapable of any other than mechanical government. — 
Let us next consider the nature of moral government. 
This is the government of persons who have reason and active 
power, and have laws prescribed to them for their conduct, by a 
legislator. ‘Their obedience is obedience in the proper sense 5 
_ it must therefore be their.own act and deed, and consequently 
they must have power to obey or to disobey. To preseribe 
laws to them, which they have not power to obey, or to require 
a service beyond their power, would be tyranny and injustice in 
the highest degree. Bae 
When the laws are equitable, and prescribed by just au y> 
they produce moral obligation in those that are subject to them, 
and disobedience is a crime deserving punishment. But if the 


ee ae ee ee ee ee 


 y 


LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENY. 197 


obedience be impossible ; if the transgression be necessary ; it 
is self-evident, that there can be no moral obligation to what is 
impossible, that there can be no crime in yielding to neces- 
sity, and that there can be no justice in punishing a person 
for what it was not in his power to avoid. ‘These are first prin- 
ciples in morals, and to every unprejudiced mind, as self-evident 
as the axioms of mathematics. ‘The whole science of morals 
must stand or fall with them. 

Having thus explained the nature both of mechanical and of 
moral government, the only kinds of government I am able to 
conceive, it is easy to see how far liberty or necessity agrees with 
either. 

On the one hand, 1 acknowledge, that necessity agrees per- 
fectly with mechanical government. This kind of government 
is most perfect when the governor is the sole agent ; every thing 
done is the doing of the governor only. The praise of every 
thing well done is his solely ; and his is the blame if there be 
any thing ill done, because he is the sole agent. 

It is true that, in common language, praise or dispraise is ofter 
metaphorically given to the work ; but, in propriety, it belongs 
solely tothe author. [very workman understands this perfectly, 
and takes to himself very justly the praise or dispraise of his own 
work. 

On the other hand, it is no less evident, that, on the supposi- 
tion of necessity in the governed, there can be no moral govern- 
ment. ‘There can be neither wisdom nor equity in prescribing 
laws that cannot be obeyed. There canbe no moral obligation 
upon beings thathave no active power. There can be nocrime 
in not doing what it was impossible to do; nor can there be jus- 
tice in punishing such omission. 

If we apply these theoretical principles to the kinds of ge- 
vernment which do actually exist, whether human or divine, we 
shall find that, among men, even mechanical government is im- 
perfect. 

Men do not make the matter they work upon. Its various 
kinds, and the qualities belonging to each kind, are the work of 
God. The laws of nature, to which it is subject, are the work 
of God. The motions of the atmosphere and of the sea, the 
heat and_cold of the air, the rain and wind, which are useful in- 
struments in most human operations, are not in our power. S® 
that, in all the machanical productions of men, the work is more 
to be ascribed to God than to man. — ee 

Civil government among men is a species of moral govern- 
ment, but imperfect, as its lawgivers and its judges are. Human 
laws may be unwise or unjust ; human judges may be partial or 
unskilful. But in all equitable civil governments, the maxims of 
moral government above mentioned, are acknowledged as rules 
which ought never to be violated. Indeed, the rules of justice 

VOLs Il, Miia %6 


198 Essa¥ 1V. 


are so evident to all men, that the most tyrannical governments 
profess to be guided by them, and endeavour to poste what is 
contrary to them, by the plea of necessity. 

That a man cannot be under an obligation to whatsi is impossi- 
ble ; that he cannot be criminal in yielding to necessity, nor 
justly punished for what he could not avoid, are maxims admitted, 
in all criminal courts, as fundamental rules of justice. 

In opposition to this, it has been said by some of the most able 
defenders of necessity, that human laws require no more to con- 
stitute a crime, but that it be voluntary; whence it is inferred, 
that the criminality consists in the determination of the will, whe-~ 
ther that determination be free or necessary. This, I think 
indeed, is the only possible plea by which criminality can be 
made consistent with necessity ; and therefore it deserves to be 
considered. 

I acknowledge that a crime must be voluntary ; ; for if it be not 
voluntary ; it is no deed of the man, nor can it be justly imputed 
to him ; but it is no less necessary that the criminal have moral 
liberty. In men that are adult, and of a sound mind, this li- 
‘berty is presumed. But in every case where it cannot be pre- 
sumed, no criminality is imputed, even to voluntary actions. 

This is evident from the following instances: ist, The actions 
of brutes appear to be voluntary; yet they are never conceived 
to be criminal, though they may be noxious. 2dly, Children in 
nonage act voluntarily, but they are not chargeable with crimes. 
3dly, Madmen have both understanding and will, but they have 
not moral liberty, and therefore are not chargeable with crimes. 
4thly, Even in men that are adult and of a sound mind, a motive 
that is thought irresistible by any ordinary degree of self-com- 
mand, such as the rack, or the dread of present death, either 
exculpates, or very much alleviates a voluntary action, which, 
in other circumstances, would be highly criminal ; whence it 
is evident, that if the motive were absolutely irresistible, the 


exculpation would be complete. So far is it from being true — 


ea ae) 


in itself, or agreeable to the common sense of mankind, that — 
the criminality of an action depends solely upon its Pein vo- 


luntary. 

The government of brutes, so far as they are subject to ie 
is a species of mechanical government, or something very like 
te it, and has no resemblance to moral government. As inani- 


~God has given to the various productions of nature, and our 
knowledge of the laws of nature which he has established ; so 
brute animals are governed by our knowledge of the natural i in- 
stincts, appetites, affections, and passions, which God has given 
them. By a skilful application of these springs of their actions, 
they may be trained to many habits useful to man. After all, 
we find that, from causes unknown to us, not only some species, 


mate. matter is governed by our knowledge of the qualities which — 


LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GQVERNMENT. 199 


but some individuals of the same species, are more tractable than 
others. 

Children under age are governed much in the same way as 
the most sagacious brutes. The opening of their intellectual 
and moral powers, which may be much aided by proper instruc- 
tion and example, is that which makes them, by degrees, capa- 
ble of moral government. 

Reason teaches us to ascribe to the Supreme Being a govern- 
ment of the inanimate and inactive part of his creation, analo- 
gous to that mechanical government which men exercise, but in- 
finitely more perfect. This, I think, is what we call God’s na- 
iural government of the universe. In this part of the divine go- 
vernment, whatever is done is God’s doing. He is the sole 
cause, and the sole agent, whether he act immediately, or by in- 
struments subordinate to him ; and his will is always done : for 
instruments are not causes, they are not agents, though we some- 
times improperly call them so. 

It is therefore no less agreeable to reason, than to the language 
of holy writ, to impute to the Deity whatever is done in the na- 
tural world. When we say of any thing, that it is the work of 
nature, this is saying that it is the work of God, and can have 
no other meaning. 


The natural world is a grand machine, contrived, made, and ~ 


governed by the wisdom and power of the Almighty: and if 
there be in this natural world, beings that have life, intelligence, 
and will, without any degree of active power, they can only be 
subject to the same kind of mechanical government. Their de- 
terminations, whether we call them good or ill, must be the ac- 
tions of the Supreme Being, as much as the productions of the 
earth : for life, intelligence, and will, without active power, can 
do nothing, and therefore nothing can justly be imputed to it. 
This grand machine of the natural world, displays the power 
and wisdom of the artificer. But in it, there can be no display 
of moral attributes, which have a relation to moral conduct in 
his creatures, such as justice and equity in rewarding or punish- 
ing, the love of virtue and abhorrence of wickedness : for, as 
every thing in it is God’s doing, there can be no vice to be 
punished or abhorred, no virtue in his creatures to be rewarded. 
According to the system of necessity, the whole universe of 
creatures is this natural world ; and of every thing done in it, 


_ God is the sole agent. There can be no moral government, ~ 


nor moral obligation. Laws, rewards, and punishments, are 
only mechanical engines, and the will of the lawgiver is obeyed 
as much when his laws are transgressed, as when they are ob- 
Served. Such must be our notions of the government of the 
world, upon the supposition of necessity. It must be purely 
mechanical, and there can be no moral government upon that 
hypothesis. 


a 


200 ‘ ESSAY JY. 

Let us cousider, on te other hand, what notion of the divine) 
ve a we are naturally led into by the Pepporition of 
hberty. 

They who adopt this system conceive, that in ‘that small per- 
tion of the universe which falls under our view, as a great part. 
has no active power, but moves, as it is moved, by necessity, 
and therefore must be subject toa mechanical government, so it 
has pleased the Almighty to bestow upon some of his creatures, 
particularly upon man, some degree of active power, and of 
reason, to direct him to the right use of his power. 

What connexion there may be, in the nature of things, between 
reason and active power, we know not. But we see evidently, 
that, as reason without active power can do nothing, so active 
power without reason has no guide to direct it to anyend. — 

These two conjoined make moral liberty, which, in how small 
a degree soever it is possessed, raises man to a superior rank i in 
the creation of God. He is not merely a tool in the hand of 
the master, but a servant, in the proper sense, who has a certain 
trust, and<is accountable for the discharge of it. Within the 
sphere of his power, he has a subordinate dominion or govern- 
ment, and therefore may be said to be made after the image of 
God, the Supreme Governor. But as his dominion is subordi- 
nate, he is under a moral obligatioa to make a right use of it, as 
far as the reason which God has given him can direct him. 
When he does so, he is a just object of moral approbation ; and 
no lessan object of disapprobation and just punishment when he 
abuses the power with which he is intrusted. And he must 
finally render an account of the talent committed to to the 
Supreme Governor and righteous Judge. 

This is the moral government of God, which, fai hen pen 
inconsistent with liberty, supposes liberty i in those that are subjec 3 
to it, and can extend no further than that liberty extends; for 


accountableness can no more agree with gighenc ‘that light 4 


with darkness. 

It ought likewise to be observed, that as active brn in man, 
and in every created being, is the gift of God, it depends entirely 
on his pleasure for its existence, its degree, and its continuance, 
and therefore can do nothing which he does not see fit to permit. 

Our power to act does not exempt us from being acted upon; 
and restrained or compelled by a superior power ; and the 
power of God is always superior to that of man. 

It would be great folly and presumption in us to pretend te 
know all the ways in which the government of the Supreme 
Being is carried on, and his purposes accomplished by men, act- 
ing freely, and having different or opposite purposes in their 
view. For, as the heavens are high above the. earth, so are 
his thoughts above our thoughts, and his ways above our ways. 

That a man may have great influence upon the voluntary 


pe ee ay 


_S$IBST ARGUMENT. 261 


determinations of other men, by means of education, example 
and persuasion, is a fact which must be granted, whether we 
adopt the system of liberty or necessity. How far such deter- 
minations ought to be imputed to the person who applied those 
means, how far to the person influenced by them, we know not, 
but God knows, and will judge righteously. 

But what I would here observe is, that if a man of superior 
talents may have so great influence over the actions of his fellow- 
ereatures, without taking away their liberty, itis surely reason- 
able to allow a much greater influence of the same kind to him 
who made man. Nor can it ever be proved, that the wisdom 

‘and power of the Almighty are insufficient for.governing free 
agents, so as to answer his purposes. 

He who made man may have ways of governing his deter- 
minations, consistent with moral liberty, of which we have no 
conception. And he who gave this liberty freely, may lay any 

- yestraint upon it that is necessary for answering his'wise and 
benevolent purposes. The justice of his government requires, 
that his creatures should be accountable only for what they have 
received, and not for what was never intrusted to them. And 
we are sure that the Judge of all the earth willdo what is right. 

Thus, I think, it appears, that, upon the supposition of neces- 
sity, there can be no moral government of the universe. Its 
government must be perfectly mechanical, and every thing done 
in it, whether good or ill, must be God’s doing ; and that, upon 
the supposition of liberty, there may be a perfect moral govern- 
ment of the universe, consistent with his accomplishing all his 
purposes, in its creation and government. — - 

The arguments to prove that man is endowed with moral 
liberty, which have the greatest weight with me; ate three: Ist, 

“Because he has a natural conviction or belief, that, in many 

- eases, he acts freely ; 2dly, Because he is accountable ; and, 
3dly, Because he is able to prosecute an end by a long series of 
means adapted to it. 


——_ 


CHAPTER VI. 


BIRST ARGUMENT. 


WE have, by our constitution, a natural conviction or belief 
that we act freely. A convietion so early, so universal, and se 
necessary in most of our rational operations, that it must be the 
result of our constitution, and the work of Him that made us. 

Some of the most strenuous advocates for the doctrine of 
nevessity acknowledge, that it is impossible to act upon it: 


eS 
ie 
* 


, 202 ‘ESSAY 1V- 


They say that we have a natural sense or conviction that we 
act freely, but that this isa fallacious sense. 
This doctrine is dishonourable to our Maker, and lays a 


foundation for universal skepticism. It supposes the Author of — 


our being to have given us one faculty on purpose to deceive us, 


and another by which we may detect the mip and Tt that ~ 


he imposed upon us. 

If any one of our natural faculties be faliapioute theres can be 
no reason to trust to any of them; for he that made one eae 
all. 

The genuine dictate of our natural ‘faculties is the voice of 
God, no less than what he reveals from heaven ; and tosay that 
it is fallacious, i is to impute a lie to the God of truth. 

If candour and veracity be not an essential part of moral ex- 
cellence, there is no such thing as moral excellence, nor any 
reason to rely on the declarations and promises of the Almighty. 


A man may be tempted to lie, but not without being conscious 


of guilt and of meanness. Shall we impute to the Almighty 
what we cannot impute to a man without a heinous affront ? 

Passing this opinion, therefore, as shocking to an ingenuous 
mind, and, in its consequences, subversive of all religion, all 
morals, and all knowledge, let us proceed to consider the evi- 
dence of our having a natural conviction that we pore some 
degree of active power. ph 

The very conception or idea of active power must be derived 
from something in our own constitution. It is impossible to ac- 
count for it otherwise. We see events, but wesee not the pow- 
er that produces them. We perceive one event to follow ano- 
ther, but we perceive not the chain that binds them together. 
The notion of power and causation, therefore, cannot be ae 
from external objects. 

Yet the notion of causes, and the belief that every ener 
must have a cause which had power to produce it, is found in 
every human mind so firmly established, that it cannot be root- 
ed out. 

This notion and this belief must have its origin from some-. 


thing in our constitution ; and that it is natural to man, aia 


from the following observations. 

ist, We are conscious of many voluntary exertions, some 
easy, ‘others more difficult, some requiring a great effort. These 
are exertions of power. And though a man may be uncon- 
scious of his power when he does not exert it, he must have 
both the conception and the belief of it, when he knowingly and 
willingly exerts it, with intention to produce some effect. | 

Qdly, Deliberation about an action of moment, whether we 
shall do it or not, implies a conviction that it is in our power. 
To deliberate about an end, we must be convinced that the 
means are in our power; and to deliberate about the means. 


C—O 


+> 


FIRST ARGUMENT‘. 203 


we must be convinced that we have power to choose the most 
proper. : 

3dly, Suppose our deliberation brought to an issue, and that 
we resolved to do what appeared proper, can we form such a 
resolution or purpose, without any conviction of power to exe- 
cute it? No; it is impossible. A man cannot resolve to lay 
out a sum of money, which he neither has, nor hopes ever to 
have. 

4thly, Again, when I plight my#faith in any promise or con- 
tract, | must believe that I shall have power to perform what 
I promise. Without this persuasion, a promise would be down- 
right fraud. 

There is a condition implied in every promise, if we lice, and 
tf God continue with us the power which he has given us. Our 
conviction, therefore, of this power derogates not in the least 
from our dependence upon God. The rudest savage is taught 
by nature to admit this condition in all promises, whether it 
be expressed or not. For it is adictate of common sense, that 
we can be under no obligation to do what it is impossible for us 
to do. 

If we act upon the system of necessity, there must be ano- 
iher condition implied in all deliberation, in every resolution, 
and in every promise ; and that is, of we shall be willing. But 
the will not being in our power, we cannot engage for it. 


If this condition be understood. as it must be understood if 4 


we act upon the system of necessity, there can be no delibera- 
tion or resolution, norany obligation ina promise. A man might 
as well deliberate, resolve, and promise, upon the actions of 
other men as upon his own. 

It is no less evident, that we have a conviction of power in 


other men, when we advise, or persuade, or command, or con- © 


ceive them to be under obligation by their promises. 

dthly, Is it impossible for any man to blame himself for yield- 
ing to necessity ? Then he may blame himself for dying, or for 
beinga man. Blame supposes a wrong use of power; and when 
a man does as well as it was possible for him to do, wherein is 
he to be blamed ? Therefore all conviction of wrong conduct, 
all remorse and self-condemnation, imply a conviction of our 
power to have done better. Take away this conviction, and 
there may be a sense of misery, ora dread of evil to come, 
but there can be no sense of guilt, or resolution to do better. 

Many who hold the doctrine of necessity, disown these con- 
sequences of it, and think toevade them. Tosuch they ought 
not to be imputed; but their inseparable connexion with that 
doctrine appears self-evident; and therefore some late patrons 
of it have had the boldness to avow them. ‘“ They cannot 
accuse themselves of having done any thing wrong in the ulti- 
mate sense of the words. Ina strict sense, they have nothing 


“* 


Rod ESSAY IV. 


to do with repentance, confession, and pardon, these being adapts 
ed to a fallacious view of things.2? 

Those who can adopt these sentiments, may indeed celebrate, 
with high encomiums, the great and glorious doctrine of necessity. 
It restores them, in their own conceit, to the state of ‘innocence. 
It delivers them from all the pangs of guilt and remorse, — 
and from all fear about their future conduct, though not about 
their fate. They may be as secure that they shall do nothing 
wrong, as those who have finished their Course. A doctrine so — 
flattering to the mind of a sinner, is very apt to give strength 
to weak arguments. 

After all, it is acknowledged by those who boast of this ploricna’ 
doctrine, “That every man, let him use what efforts he ean, 
will necessarily feel the sentiments of shame, remorse, and re- 
pentance, and oppressed with a sense of guilt, will have recourse 
to that mercy of which he stands in need.” 

The meaning of this seems to me to be, that although the © 
doctrine of necessity be supported by invincible arguments, and 
though it be the most consolotory doctrine in the world; yet no 
man in his most serious moments, when he sits himself before 
the throne of his Maker, can possibly believe it, but must then 
necessarily lay aside this glorious doctrine, and all its flattering 
consequences, and return to the humiliating conviction of his 
having made a bad use of the power which God had given him. 

If the belief of our having active power be ne essarily im-. 
plied in those rational operations we have mentioned, it must be 
eoeval with our reason ; it must be as univers among men, — é 
and as necessary in the conduct of life, as those operations are. 

We cannot recollect by memory when it began. It canno 
be a prejudice of education, or of false philosophy. It must be 

“a part of our constitution, or the necessary resultof our congti~ 
tution, and therefore the work of God. 

It resembles, in this respect, our belief of the existence of a 
material world; our belief that those we converse with are 
living and intelligent beings; our belief that those ‘things did 
really happen which we distinctly remember, and our belief 
that we continue the same identical persons. — 

We find difficulty in accounting for our belief of these things ; 3, : 
and some philosophers think, that they have discovered good — 
reasons for throwing it off. Bat it sticks fast, and the greatest 
skeptic finds, that he must yield to it in his practice, while he - 
wages war with it in speculation. F 

If it be objected to this argument, that the belief of our act- 
ing freely cannot be implied in the operations we have mention- 
ed, because those operations are performed by them who believe 
that we are, in all our actions, governed by necessity ; ; the an- 
swer to this objection is, that men in their practice may be 
governed by a belief which in speculation they reject. 


‘ 


FIRST ARGUMENT. 203 


However sirange and unaccountable this may appear, there 
are many well-known instances of it. 

I knew a man who was as much convinced as any man of the 
folly of the popular belief of apparitions in the dark, yet he 
could not sleep in aroom alone, nor go alone intoa room in the 
dark. Can it be said, that his fear did not imply a belief of 
danger? This is impossible. Yet his philosophy convinced him, 
that he was in no more danger in the dark when alone, than 
with company. 

Here an unreasonable belief, which was merely a prejudice 


of the nursery, stuck so fast as to govern his conduct, in opposi- _ 


tion to his speculative belief as a philosopher, and a man of 
sense, 


There are few persons who can look down from the battle- - 


ment of a very high tower without fear, while their reason con- 
vinces them that they are in no more danger than when standing 
upon the ground. 

‘There have been persons who professed to believe that there 
is no distinction between virtue and vice, yet in their practice, 
they resented injuries, and esteemed noble and virtuous actions. 

There have been skeptics who professed to disbelieve their 
senses, and every human faculty; but no skeptic was ever 
known, who did not, in practice, pay a regard to his senses and 
to his other faculties. . 

There are some points of belief so necessary, that without 
them, a man would not be the being which God made him. 
These may be opposed in speculation, but it is impossible to 
root themout. Ina speculative hour they seem to vanish, but 
in practice they resume their authority. This seems to be the 


case of those who hold the doctrine of necessity, and yet act as | wi 


if they were free. 


This natural conviction of some degree of power in ourselves 


and in other men, respects voluntary actions only. For as all 
our power is directed by our will, we can form no conception 
of power, properly so called, that is not under the direction of 
will. And therefore our exertions, our deliberations, our pur- 
poses, our promises, are only in things that depend upon our 
will. Our advices, exhortations, and commands, are only in 
things that depend upon the will of those to whom they are ad- 
dressed. We impute no guilt to ourselves, nor to others, in 
things where the will is not concerned. 

But it deserves our notice, that we do not conceive every 
thing, without exception, to be in a man’s power which depends 
upon his will. There are many exceptions to this general rule. 
The most obvious of these I shall mention, because they both 
serve to illustrate the rule, and are of importance in the ques- 
tion concerning the liberty of man. eye 

“In the rage of madness, men are absolutely deprived of the 


VOL. Itt. 97 


aa 


206 ESSAY IV. 


—eo 


power of self-government. They act voluntarily, but their will — 
is driven as by a tempest, which, in lucid intervals, they resolve : 
to oppose with all their might, but are overcome when the fit 
of madness returns. oT ee ; 

Idiots are like men walking in the dark, who cannot be said 
to have the power of choosing their way, because they cannot — 
distinguish the good road from the bad. Having no light in — 
their understanding, they must either sit still, or be carri d on | 
by some blind impulse. fa eee re ‘ 

Between the darkness of infancy, which is equal to that “of — 
idiots, and the maturity of reason, there isa long twilight which, ; 
by insensible degrees, advances to the perfect day. = 

In this period of life, man has but little of the bones of self- 


. . RTI [rer 4 7 
government. His actions, by nature, as well as the laws of 


society, are in the power of others more than in his own. His 
folly and indiscretion, his levity and inconstancy, are consider- ¥ 
edas the fault of youth, rather than of the man. We consider + 
him as half a man and half a child, and expect that each by © 
turns should play its part. He would be thought a severe and — 
unequitable censor of manners, who required the same cool de- 
liberation, the same steady conduct, and the same mastery over — 
himself in a boy of thirteen, asin a manof thirty, = é 

It is an old adage, that violent anger is a short fit of madness. — 
If this be literally true in any case, a man in sucha fit of passion, ~ 
cannot be said to have the command of himself. If real mad- ~ 
ness could be proved, it must have the effect of madness while — 


in its progress, was irresistible. The Searcher of hearts alone y 


, 


judgment. ok na scak ane 
It ought likewise to be observed, that hé who has accustomed 4 
himself to restrain his passions, enlarges by habit his pov entice i 
them, and consequently over himself. When we consider that — 
a Canadian savage can acquire the power of defyin death, in # 
its most dreadful forms, and of braving the most exquisite tor- — 
ment for many long hours, without losing the commani | of him- | 
self; we may learn from this, that, in the constitution of human — 
nature, there is ample scope for the enlargement of that power 


st 


FIRST ARGUMENT. 207 


of ‘self-command, without which there can be no virtue nor mag- 


nanimity.. 
—. » 2 . . >. . 
There are cases, however, in which a man’s voluntary actions 


are thought to be very little, if at all, in his power, on account * 


of the violence of the motive that impels him. ‘The magnani- 
mity of a hero, or of a martyr, is not expected in every man, 
and on all occasions. 

If a man trusted by the government with a secret, which itis 
high treason to disclose, be prevailed upon by a bribe, we have 
no mercy for him, and hardly allow the greatest bribe to be any 
alleviation of his crime. 

_ But, on the other hand, if the secret be extorted by the rack, 
or by the dread of present death, we pity him more than we 
blame him, and would think it severe and unequitable to con- 
demn him as a traitor. 

What is the reason that all men agree in condemning this man 


as a traitor in the first case, and in the last, either exculpate him, 


or think his fault greatly alleviated? If he acted necessarily in 
both cases, compelled by an irresistible motive, I can see no 
reason why we should not pass the same judgment on both. 
But the reason of these different judgments is evidently this, 
that the love of money, and of what is called a man’s interest, is 
a cool motive, which leaves toa man the entire power over him- 
self: but the torment of the rack, or the dread of present death, 
are so violent motives, that men who have not uncommon 
strength of mind, are not masters of themselves in such a situa- 
tion, and therefore what they do is not imputed, or is thought 
Jess criminal, 
Ifa man resist such motives, we admire his fortitude, and 
think his conduct heroical rather than human. If he yields, we 
impute it to human frailty, and think him rather to be pitied 
than severely censured. . 
Inveterate habits are acknowledged to diminish very con- 
siderably the power a man has over himself. “Althqgugh we may 
think him highly blameable in acquiring them, yet when they are 
confirmed to a certain degree, we consider him as no longer 
master of himself, and hardly reclaimable without a miracle. 
Thus we see, that the power which we are led by common 
sense to ascribe to man, respects his voluntary actions only, and 
that it has various limitations even with regard to them. Some 
actions that depend upon our will are easy, others very difficult, 
and some, perhaps, beyond our power. In different men, the 
power of self-government is different, and in the same man at 
different times. It may be diminished, or perhaps lost, by bad 
habits; it may be greatly increased by good habits. Hugs 


_ These are facts attested by experience, and supported by the 


common judgment of mankind. Upon the system of liberty, 


they are perfectly intelligible; but, I think, irreconcileable to’ 


‘ 


_ fect moral rectitude is to be ascribed tothe Deity; that man is — 
a moral and accountable being, capable of acting right and 


re 
-> ae 


205 ESSAY IY. 


that of necessity ; for, how can there be an easy and a difficult 
in actions equally subject to necessity ? or; how can power be 


greater or less, increased or diminished, in those who have no | 


ower? ian whi 
This natural conviction of our acting freely, which is ac- i 
knowledged by many who hold the doctrine of nee essity, ought 
to throw the whole burden’ of proof upon” that side = 1 by © 
this, the side of liberty has what lawyers call a jus g 2, OF 


‘a right of ancient possession, which ought to stand good. till it be 


; 
overturned. If it cannot be proved that we always | act from 
necessity, there is no need of arguments on the ‘other pce % 
convince us that we are free agents. = PAA OOH i 

To illustrate this by a similar case: if elpiibabaplaas? would 
persuade me, that my fellow-men with whom I converse, i 
not thinking intelligent beings, but mere machines; though 
might be at a loss to find arguments against this stnnatapieoeetl 
should think it reasonable to hold the belief which nature gave 
me before I was capable of weighing geri until “Convincing 3 


r¢ 


proof is brought against it: GaN Hoey 
Va pee Sop 
weet ) Oh tel ot Sie 
CHAPTER Vi0s iit fonnge th) aoe 
nit rai heap He Sic ad 7 
SECOND ARGUMENT: Vtatg eh hi 
eer ee Ceayet Pe rey Se 


THAT Wee is a real and pasctifiad distaitiliel between right 
and wrong conduct; between just and unjust; that the most per-_ 


wrong, and answerable for his conduct to him who made him, 
and assigned him a part to act oak the stage of life ; ; are 
ciples proclaimed by every man’s conscience ; princi he sep 
which the systems of morality and natural religion, imo 
the system of revelation, are grounded, and which have been © 
generally acknowledged by those who hold contrary opinions on 
the subject of human liberty. I shall therefore here take them & 
for granted. (Aces eR. Laie 
These principles afford an obvious, ae I think, an invincible f 
argument, that man is endowed with moral. liberty aff) brik 
_'Two things are implied in the notion of a moral and nes ; 
able being ; understanding and active power. 5 
ist, He must understand the law to which he is bou 
obligation to obey it. Moral obedience must be. ry, 
must regard the authority of the law. _ 1 may command'my. 
to eat when he hungers, and drink .when he thirsts. 
so; but his doing it 1s no moral obedience. | ‘He does not under- 


stand my command, and therefore can have no will to obey it. — 


SECOND ARGUMENT. 209 


He has not the conception of moral obligation, and therefore 
cannot act from the conviction of it. In eating and drinking, 
he is moved by his own appetite only, and not by my authority. 

Brute animals are incapable of moral obligation, because they 
have not that degree of understanding which itimplies. They 
shave not the conception of a rule of conduct, and of obligation 
to obey it, and therefore, though they may be noxious, they can- 
not be criminal. ; 

Man, by his rational nature, is capable both of understanding 
the law that is prescribed to him, and of perceiving its obliga- 
tion. He knows what it is to be just and honest, to injure no 
man, and to obey his Maker. From his constitution, he has an 
immediate conviction of his obligation to these things. He has 
the approbation of his conscience when he acts by these rules; 
‘and he is conscious of guilt and demerit when he transgresses 
them. And, without this knowledge of his duty and his obliga- 
tion, he would not be a moral and accountable being. 

2dly, Another thing implied in the notion of a moral and 
accountable being, is power to do what he is accountable for. 

That no man can be under a moral obligation to do what it is 
impossible for him to do, or to forbear what it is impossible for 
him to forbear, is an axiom as self-evident as any in mathema- 
tics. It cannot be contradicted, without overturning all notion 
of mora! obligation ; nor can there be any exception to it, when 
itis rightly understood. 

Some moralists have mentioned what they conceive to be an 
exception to this maxim. The exception isthis. Whena man, 
by his own fault, has disabled himself from doing his duty, his 
obligation, they say, remains, though he is now unable to dis- 
‘charge it. Thus, if a man by sumptuous living has become 
‘bankrupt, his inability to pay his debt does not take away.his 
obligation. 

. To judge whether, in this and similar cases, there be any 
exception to the axiom above mentioned, they must be stated 
accurately. . 

No doubt a man is highly criminal in living above his fortune, 
and his crime is greatly aggravated by the circumstance of his 
being thereby unable to pay his just debt. Let us suppose, 
therefore, that he is punished for this crime as much as it de- 
serves ; that his goods are fairly distributed among his creditors, 
and that one half remains unpaid ; let us suppose also, that he 
adds no new crime to what is past, that he becomes a new man, 
‘and not only supports himself by honest industry, but does all in 

his power to pay what he still owes. 

~~ Twould now ask, is he further punishable, and really guilty 
for not paying more than he is able? Let every man consult his 
conscience, and say whether he can blame this man for not do- 
ing more than he is able to do. _ His guilt before his bankruptcy 


Fp 4 


; . 
210 ESSAY IV. 4 
. ¥ 
is out of the question, as he has received the punishment dué_ me 
for it. But that his subsequent conduct is unblameable, « evel ns 4 
man must allow; and that, in his present state, he is account- 
able for no more than he is able todo. His obligat 
cancelled, it returns with his ability, and can go no the 
Suppose a sailor, employed in the navy of his” cy 
longing for the ease of a public hospital as an bike. oe 

his fingers, so as to disable him from doing the duty of as 
he is guilty of a great crime; but, after’ Reig bs y punist 
according to the demerit OF his crime, will his captain’ 
that he shall still do the duty of a sailor? Will 2 Comiinay hi 
to go aloft whenit is impossible for him to do i oe 
as guilty of disobedience? Surely if there be mal 

justice and injustice, this would be unjust ania 

Suppose a servant, through negligence an an ae 

o 


oie 
takes the orders given him by his master, and, from 1 
does what he was ordered not fo do. It is common ep 
culpable ignorance does not excuse a fault: this jecision. ‘is in- 
accurate, because it does not show where the fault ie ie 
fault was ‘solely in that inattention, or negligence, which was 
the occasion of his mistake: there was no neater ae 

This becomes evident, when we vary the case so far as sto 
suppose, that he was unavoidably led into the mistake wi 
any fault on his part. His mistake is now invincible, and, in th 
opinion of all moralists, takes away all blame ; ye ‘this new W Cas 
supposes no change, but in the cause of his mista e. ists be 
sequent conduct was the same in both cases. The fa ut Ses 
fore lay solely in the Behera’ and inattention whick ig Re s the Me 
cause of his mistake. & Lvspevive Page ay 

phir axiom, that invincible i ignorance takes away 7 all bla ‘i 

ly a particular case of the general axiom. iat bs bail 
no moral obligation to what is impossible ; the for frites ind- — 
ed upon the latter, and can have no other foundation Pye es. 

I shall put only one case more. ° Suppose thata | man, by 
and intemperance, has entirely destroyed his rational f 1 
as to have become perfectly mad or idiotical ; 5 su] OSE 
warned of his danger, and that, though he foresaw t is 
be the consequence, he went on still in his criminal indu he 
A greater crime can hardly be supposed, or more. dese 
severe punishment? Suppose him punished ‘as he déserv res 
will it be said, that the duty of a man is incumbent | 10 tin 
now, when he has not the faculties of a man, 0 “inet 
new guilt when he is not a moral agent? sirelpw ry as We 
suppose a plant, or a clod of earth, to be a subject of mors 
duty. ty nga 448: ee i + * eS 

The decisions I have given of these cases, care grou ; 
ihe fundamental principles of morals, the most : mn ve 
tates of conscience. If these principles are ene Mp all moral — 


a2 


cult 


SECOND ARGUMENT. Qh4 


reas ing is at an end, and no distinction is left between what is 
jus ' nd what is unjust. And it is evident, that none of these 
cases furnishes any exception to the axiom above mentioned. 
No moral obligation can be consistent with impossibility in the 
Perinance. iis eda paieiing kine 
Active power, therefore, is necessarily implied in the very 
notion of a moral accountable being. And if man be sucha 
eing, he must have a degree of active power proportioned to 
the account he is to make. He may. have a model of perfection 
set before him which he is unable to reach; but, if he does to 
the utmost of his power, this is all he can be answerable for. 
To incur guilt, by not going beyond his power, is impossible. 
What was said, in the first argument, of the limitation of 
our power, adds much strength to the present argument. A 
man’s power, it was observed, extends only to his voluntary ac- 
tions, and has many limitations, evem with respect to them. 

His accountableness has the same extent, and the same limi- 

iations. 
_ In the rage of madness he has no power over himself, nei- 
ther is he accountable, or capable of moral obligation. In 
ripe age, man is accountable in a greater degree than in non- 
age, because his power over himself is greater... Violent pas- 
sions, and violent. motives, alleviate what is done through their 
influence, in the same proportion as they diminish the power 
of resistance. 

There is, therefore, a perfect correspondence between pow- 
er, on the one hand, and moral obligation and. accountableness, 
on the other. They not only correspond in general, as they 
respect voluntary actions only, but every limitation of the first 

roduces a corresponding limitation of the two last... This, in- 
et ists to nothing more than that maxim of common 
sense, confirmed by Divine authority, that to whom much is 
given, of him much will be required. 


_..The sum of this argument is, that a certain degree of active 


power is the talent which God has given to every rational ac- 
countable creature, and of which he will require, an account. 
If man had no power, he would have nothing to account for. 
All wise and all foolish conduct, all virtue and vice, consist in 
the right use or in the abuse of that power which God has given 
us. If man had no power, he could neither be wise. nor foolish, 
virtuous nor vicious. 

If we adopt the system of necessity, the terms moral obliga- 
tion, and accountableness, praise and blame, merit and demerit, 
justice and iyjustice, reward and punishment, wisdom and. folly, 


virtue and vice, ought to be disused, or to have new meanings 


‘given to them when they are used in religion, in morals, or in 
civil government; for upon that system, there can be no such 
things as they have been always used fo signify. 


Ss 


Ee 


212 


HE : Das ren 
coe OH i Bir Vill. 
THIRD ARGUMENT. 


THAT. man has power over his ih 
appears, because he is capable of carryit me 
dently, a system of conduct, which he. ha before 
his mind, and resolved to prosecute. bah pea pity “ 

I take it for granted, that, among “the Yi ue 
men, there have been some, who, after th n 
understanding, deliberately laid down a pla 
they resolved to pursue through life ; and 
have steadily pursued the end they t had in y 
means. : " 

“It is of no consequence in this argu shay wh 
made the best choice of his main end o 
be riches, or power, or fame, or the a pre 
1 suppose only, that he has _prudentl 
that, in a long course of deliberate acti 
means that appeared most. conducive, | 
whatever might cross tte : 

That such conduct ina man dem 
of wisdom and understanding, no mane 
it demonstrates, with equal force, a ce 
over his voluntary determinations. = 

‘This will appear evident, if we “consider, thal 
- without power may project, butc can execute et 
~ plan of conduct, as it cannot be contrive 
2 ing, so it cannot be carried into executi on 

therefore, the execution, as an effect, 
force, | both power and understanding i in the ¢ ca 
tion of wisdom, taken from the effect, is equall 
power to execute. what wisdom planned. : An 
evidence that the wisdom which forme 
we have the very same evidence, that the pC 
iti is in him also. . 

‘In this argument, we reason from the 
demonstrating the being and perfections of t 
all things, . 

The effects we observe in the course of nature 
cause. Effects, wisely adapted to an end, requir 2 
Every ‘indication of the wisdom of the Creator i As, 
dication of his power. His wisdom appears only. i 8 
done by his is power ; for wisdom without | t_power 2 
but it cannot ae it may plan, but it ‘a 
plans. 


THIRD ARGUMENT. 213 


The same reasoning we apply to the works of men. In a 
stately palace we see the wisdom of the architect. His wisdom 
contrived it, and wisdom could dono more. ‘The execution re- 
quired, both a distinct conception of the plan, and power to 
operate according to that plan. 4 

Let us apply these principles to the supposition we have made. 
That a man, ina long course of conduct, has determined and 
acted prudently in the prosecution of a certain end. If the 
man had both the wisdom to plan this course of conduct, and 
that power over his own actions that was necessary to carry it 
into execution, he is a free agent, and used his liberty, in this 
instance, with understanding. 

But if all his particular determinations, which concurred in 
the execution of this plan, were produced, not by himself, but 
by some cause acting necessarily upon him, then there is no 
evidence left that he contrived this plan, or that he ever spent 
a thought about it. 

The cause that directed all these determinations so wisely, 
whatever it was, must be a wise and intelligent cause ; it must 
have understood the plan, and have intended the execution 
of it. : 

If it be said, that all this course of determinations was pro- 
duced by motives; motives surely have not understanding to 
conceive a plan, and intend its execution. We must therefore 
go back beyond motives to some intelligent being who had the 
power of arranging those motives, and applying them, in their 
proper order and season, so as to bring about .ie end. 

This intelligent being must have understood the plan, and 


intended to execute it. If this be so, as the man had no hand 


in the execution, we have not any evidence left, that he had 
any hand in the contrivance, or even that he is a thinking being. 

If we can believe, that an extensive series of means may 
conspire to promote an end without a cause that intended the 
end, and had power to choose and apply those means for the 
purpose, we may as well believe, that this world was made bya 
fortuitous concourse of atoms, without an intelligent and pow- 
erful cause. 

If a lucky concourse of motives could produce the conduct 
of an Alexander or a Julius Cesar, no reason can be given 
why a lucky concourse of atoms might not produce the plane- 
tary system. 

If, therefore, wise conduct in a man demonstrates, that he has 
some degree of wisdom, it demonstrates, with equal force and 
evidence, that he has some degree of power over his own de- 
terminations. 

All the reason we can assign for believing that our fellow- 

en think and reason, is grounded upon their actions and 

9 


VOL. Ul. 28 


ra 


3 


as 
a 


214 ESSAY LY. 


speeches. Jf they are fot the cause of these, there is ne rea- 
son left to conclude that they think and reason. «te 
Des Cartes thought that the human body is merely a mecha- 
nical engine, and that all its motions and actions are produced 
by mechanism. If such a machine could be made to speak and 
to act rationally, we might indeed conclude with certainty, that 
the maker of it had both reason and active power; but if we 
once knew, that all the motions of the machine were purely me- 
chanical, we should have no reason to conclude that the man 
had reason or thought. sae ye tat 
The conclusion of this argument is, that, if the actions and 
speeches of other men give us sufficient evidence that they are 
reasonable beings, they give us the same evidence, and the same 
degree of evidence, that they are free agents. ier, 
There is another conclusion that may be drawn from this rea- 
soning, which it is proper to mention. Ee 
Suppose a Fatalist, rather than give ap the scheme of neces- 
sity, should acknowledge that he has no evidence that there is 
thought and reason in any of his fellow-men, and that they may be 


mechanical engines for all that he knows; he will be forced to — 


acknowledge, that there must be active power, as well as under- 
standing, in the maker of those engines, and that the first cause 
isafree agent. We have the same reason to believe this, as to 
believe his existence and hiswisdom. And, if the Deity acts free- 


ly, every argument brought to prove that freedom of action is 


impossible, must fall to the ground. : 
The First Cause gives us evidence of his power by every 


effect that gives us evidence of his wisdom. And, if he is 
a _ pleased to communicate to the work of his hands seme degree 


eo. 
; Aes 
sa 


__of his wisdom, no reason can be assigned why he may not com- 


gy S 


~ municate some dégree of his power, as the talent which wisdom 
is to employ. 


That the first motion, or the first effect, whatever it be, can-_ 


not be produced necessarily, and consequently, that the first 
cause must be a free agent, has been demonstrated so clearly 


~-and unanswerably by Dr. Clarke, both in his Demonstration of 


the being and attributes of God, and in the end of his remarks 


on Collin’s Philosophical Inquiry concerning Human Liberty, 


' 


a ee ee a 


that I can add nothing to what he has said; nor have I found — 
any objection made to his reasoning, by any of the defenders of — 


necessity. 


215 


_ CHAPTER IX. | 


F Ha ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 


SOME of the arguments that have beep offered for necessity 
were already considered in this Essay. 

It has been said, that human liberty respects only the actions 
that are subsequent to volition ; and that power over the deter- 
minations of the will is inconceivable, and involves a contradic- 
tion. This argument was considered in the first chapter. 

Tt has been said, that liberty is inconsistent with the influence 
of motives, that it would make human actions capricious, and 
man ungovernable by God or man. These arguments were 
considered in the fourth and fifth chapters. 

IT am now to make some remarks upon other arguments that 
have been urged in this cause. They may, I think, be reduced 
to three classes. They are intended to prove, either that 
liberty of determination is impossible, or that it would be hurt- 
ful, or that, in fact, man has no such liberty. 

To prove that liberty of determination is impossible, it has 
been said, that there must be a sufficient reason for every thing. 


For every ewistence, for every event, for every truth, there must be 


@ sufficient reason. ah 
The famous German philosopher Leibnitz boasted much ef 


having first applied this principle to philosophy, and of having, 


by that means, changed metaphysics from being a play of un- 
meaning words, to be a rational and demonstrative science. On 


this account it deserves to be considered. 


A very obvious objection to this principle was, that twe er 
more means may be equally fit for the same end; and that,in 
such a case, there may be a sufficient reason for taking one of 
the number, though there be no reason for preferring one te 


another, of means equally fit. . 
To obviate this objection, Leibnitz maintained, that the case 
supposed could not happen; or, if it did, that none of the means 
could be used, for want of a sufficient reason to prefer one to 
@the rest. Therefore he determined, with some of the school- 


men, that if an ass could be placed between two bundles of hay, ». 
or two fields of grass, equally inviting, the poor beast would ‘- ae 


tainly stand still and starve; but the case, he says, could net 
happen without a miracle. 

When it was objected to this principle, that there could be 
no reason but the will of God why the material world was pla- 
eed in one part of unlimited space rather than another, or cre- 
ated at one point of unlimited duration rather than another, or 
why the planets should move from west to east, rather than in 


216 ESSAY IV. 


a contrary direction; these objections Leibnitz obviated by 
maintaining, that there is no such thing as unoccupied space or 
duration ; that space is nothing but the orderof things coexist- 
ing, and duration is nothing but the order of things successive ; 
that all motion is relative, so that if there were only one body 
in the universe, it would be immoveable ; that it is inconsistent 
with the perfection of the Deity, that there should be any part 
of space unoccupied by body ; and, I suppose, he understood 
the same of every part of duration. So that, according to this 
system, the world, like its Author, must be infinite, eternal, and 
immoveable ; or, ‘at least, as great in extent and ernie as it 
is possible for it to be. 

When it was objected to the principle of a fastlapienty reason, 
that of two particles of matter perfectly similar, there can be 
no reason but the will of God for placing this here and that 
there ; this objection Leibnitz obviated by maintaining, that it 
is impossible that there can be two particles of matter, or any 
two things perfectly similar. And this seems to have led him 


to another of his grand principles, which he culls, The emis . 


of indiscernibles. 

When the principle of a suflicient reason had pnodtohp so 
many surprising discoveries in philosophy, it is no wonder that 
it should determine the long-disputed question about human 
liberty. This it does ina moment. The determination of the 
will is an event for which there must be a sufficient reason, that 
is, something previous, which was necessarily followed by that 
determination, and could not be followed by any other determi- 


_ nation; therefore it was necessary. 


Thus we see, that this principle of the necessity of a sufficient — 


reason for every thing, is very fruitful of consequences; and by 


its fruits we may judge of it. Those who will adopt it, must — 


adopt all the consequences that hang upon it. To fix them all 
beyond dispute, no more is necessary but to prove the truth of 
the principle on which they depend. 

I know of no argument offered by Leibnitz in proof of this 
principle, but the authority of Archimedes, who, he says, makes 
use of it to prove, that a balance loaded with equal weaeaty on 
both ends will continue at rest. 

I grant it to be good reasoning with regard to a isldudal 
with regard to any machine, that when there is no external cause 
of its motion, it must remain at rest, because the machine has 

“power of moving itself. But to apply this reasoning to a 
a is to take for granted that the man is a pie which is 
the very point in question, | 4 

Leibnitz, and his followers, would have us to take this prin- 
ciple of the necessity of a sufficient reason for every existence, 
for every event, for every truth, as a first principle, without 
proof, without explanation ; though it be evidently a vague pro- 


OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 217 


position, capable of various meanings, as the word reason is. _ It 
must have different meanings when applied to things of so dif- 
ferent a nature as an event and a truth; and it may have differ- 
ent meanings when applied to the same thing. We cannot 
therefore form a distinct judgment of it in the gross, but only 
by taking it to pieces,-and applying it to different things, in a 
precise and distinct meaning. 

' It can have no connexion with the dispute about liberty, 
except when itis applied to the .determinations of the will. 
Let us therefore suppose a voluntary action of a man; and that 
the question is put, Whether was there a sufficient reason for 
this action or not ? 

The natural and obvious meaning of this question is, was there 
a motive to the action sufficient to justify it to be wise and good, 
or at least innocent? Surely, in this sense, there is ngf a suffi- 
cient reason for every human action, because there are many 
that are foolish, unreasonable, and unjustifiable. 

If the meaning of the question be, was there a cause of the 
action? Undoubtedly there was: of every event there must 
be a cause, that had power sufficient to produce it, and that 
exerted that power forthe purpose. «In the present case, either 
the man was the cause of the action, and then it was a free action, 
‘and is justly imputed to him; or it must have had another 


cause, and cannot justly be imputed to the man. In this sense, 
therefore, it is granted that there was sufficient reason for the 
action ; but the question about liberty is not in the least affected — 


by this concession. 

If, again, the meaning of the question be, was there something 
Sa to the action, which made it to be necessarily produced ? 
‘very man, who believes that the action was free, will answer 
to this question in the negative. 

I know ne other meaning that can be put upon the principle of 
a sufficient reason, when applied to the determinations of the 


human will, besides the three I have mentioned. In the first, it 


is evidently false ; in the second, it is true, but does not affect 
the question about liberty ; in the third, it is a mere assertion of 
necessity without proof. 

Before we leave this boasted principle, we may see how it 
applies to events of another kind. When we say that a philo- 
sopher has assigned a sufficient reason for such a phenomenon, 
what is the meaning of this? The meaning surely is, that he 
has accounted for it from the known laws of nature... The sufti- 
cient reason of a phenomenon of nature must therefore be 
some law or laws of nature, of which the phenomenon is a 
hecessary consequence. But are we sure that, in this sense, 
there is a sufficient reason for every phenomenon of nature? I 
think we are not. : 

For not to speak of miraculous events, in which the Jaws of 


= 7 
- 


216 ESSAY iy. 


nature are suspended, or counteracted, we know not but that, 
in the ordinary course of God’s providence, there may be parti- 
cular acts of his administration, that do not come under any 
general law of nature. i. ; 
Established Jaws of nature are necessary for enabling intelli- 
gent creatures to conduct their affairs with wisdom and pradence, 
and prosecute their ends by proper means ; but still it may be 
fit, that some particular events should not be fixed by general 
laws, but be directed by particular acts of the Divine govern- 
ment, that so his reasonable creatures may have sufficient 
inducement to supplicate his aid, his protection, and direction, 
and to depend upon him for the success of their honest designs, 
We see that, in human governments, even those that are most _ 
legal, it isimpossible that every act of administration should be 
directedyby established laws. Some things must be left to the 
direction of the executive power, and particularly acts of cle- 
mency and bounty to petitioning subjects. ‘That there is nothing 


_ analogous to this in the Divine government of the world, no 


man is able to prove. ( 
We have no authority to pray that God would counteract or 
suspend the laws of nature in our behalf. Prayer, therefore, 
supposes that he may lend an ear to our prayers, without trans- 
gressing the laws of nature. Some have thought, that the only 
use of prayer and devotion is, to produce a proper temper and 
disposition in ourselves, and that it has no efficacy with the 
Deity. But this is a hypothesis without proof. It contradicts 
our most natural sentiments, as well as the plain doctrine of 
Scripture, and tends to damp the fervour of every act of devotion. 
It was indeed an article of the system of Leibnitz, that the 
Deity, since the creation of the world, never dtd any thing, 
excepting in the case of miracles; his work being made so 
perfect at first, as never to need his interposition. But, in this, 
he was opposed by sir Isaac Newton, and others of the ablest 
philosophers, nor was he ever able to give any proof of this 
_ tenet. ; 


gener There is no evidence, therefore, that there is a sufficient 


_ ¥eason for every natural event: if, by a sufficient reason, we 

understand some fixed law or laws of nature, of which that event 

“ Isa mecessary consequence. . i 

But what shall we say, is the sufficient reason for a truth? 

For our belief of a truth, I think, the sufficient reason is our 

having good evidence ; but what may be meant by a sufficient 

reason for its being a truth, | am not able to guess, unless the 

sufficient reason of a contingent truth be, that it 2s true ; and, 

of a necessary truth, that it must be true. This makes a man 
hittle wiser. “2 x t 

From what has been said, I think it appears, that this principle 

of the necessity of a sufficient reason for every thing, is very 


* OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 2S 


indefinite in its signification. _ If it mean, that of every event 
there must be a cause that had sufficient power to produce it, 
this is true, and has always been admitted as a first principle in 
philosophy, and in common life. If it mean that every event 
must be necessarily consequent upon something, called a sufli- 
cient reason, that went before it; this is a direct assertion of 
universal fatality, and has many strange, not to say absurd con- 
sequences: but, in this sense, it is neither self-evident, nor has 
any proof of it been offered. And, in general, in every sense 
in which it has evidence, it gives no new information ; and, in 
every sense in which it would give new information, it wants 
evidence. " 

Another argument that has been used to prove liberty of ac- 
tion to be impossible is, that itimplies “an effect without a cause.” 

To this it may be briefly answered, that a free action is ar 
effect produced by a being who had power and will to produce 
it ; therefore it is not an effect without a cause. 

To suppose any other cause necessary to the production of 
an effect, than a being who had the power and the will to 
produce it, is a contradiction ; for it is to suppose that being 
to have power to produce the effect, and not to have power to 
produce it. 

But as great stress is laid upon this argument by a late zealous 
advocate for necessity, we shall consider the light in which he 

uts it. 
7 He introduces this argument with an observation to which 1 P 
entirely agree: itis, that to establish this doctrine of necessity, , 
nothing is necessary but that, throughout all nature, the same 
consequences should invariably result from the same circum- 
stances. 

I know nothing more that can be desired to establish universal 
fatality throughout the universe. When it is proved that, through 
all nature, the same consequences invariably result from the 
same circumstances, the doctrine of liberty must be given up. 

To prevent all ambiguity, | grant, that, in reasoning, the samé» = 
consequences, throughout all nature, will invariably follow from. ef PE a 
the same premisses: because good reasouing must be good rea- Pees 
soning in all times and places. But thishas nothing todo with = 
the doctrine of necessity. The thing to be proved, therefore. 7: 
in order to establish that doctrine is, that, through all na- 
ture, the same events invariably result from the same circum- 
stances. 

Of this capital point, the proof offered by that author, is that — 
an event not preceded by any circumstances that determined it — Ps 
to be what it was, would be an effect without a cause. Whyso? 
* Por,”’ says he, “a cause cannot be detined to be any thing but 
sueh previous etreumstances as are constantly followed by a cer- nil 
tein effect ; the constancy of the result making us conelude, that : 


220 HSSAY 1Ve + 
there must be a sufficient reason, in the nature of things, why it. 
should be produced in those circumstances.” 

I acknowledge that, if this be the only definition that can be 
given of a cause, it will follow, that an event not preceded by 
circumstances that determined it to be what it was, would be, 
notan effect without a cause, which is a contradiction in terms, 
but an event without a cause, which I hold to be impossible. 
The matter therefore is brought to this issue, whether this be 
the only definition that can be given of acaus¢? 

With regard to this point we may observe, first, that this de- 
finition of a cause, bating the phraseology of putting a cause 
under the category of circumstances, which | take to be new, 
is the same, in other words, with that which Mr. Hume gave, of 
which he ought to be acknowledged the inventor. For I know 
of no author before Mr. Hume, who maintained, that we have 
no other notion of a cause, but that it is something prior to the 
effect, which has been found by experience to be constantly fol- 
lowed by the effect. This is a main pillar of his system; and 
he has drawn very important consequences from this definition, 
which | am far from thinking this author will adopt. 

Without repeating what | have before said of causes in the 
first of these Essays, and in the second and third chapters of this, 
I shall here mention some of the consequences that may be 
justly deduced from this definition of a cause, that we may judge 
of it by its fruits. patel iors 

Ist, It follows from this definition of a cause, that night is the 
cause of day, and day the cause of night. For no two things 
have more constantly followed each other since the beginning 
of the world. ood 

Qdly, It follows from this definition of a cause, that, for what 
we know, any thing may be the cause of any thing, since no- 
thing 1s essential to a cause but its being constantly followed by 
the effect. If this be so, what is unintelligent may be the 
cause of what is intelligent; folly may be the cause of wisdom, 
and evil of good; all reasoning from the nature of the effect 
to the nature of the cause, and all reasoning from final causes, 
‘must be given up as fallacious. ORE, a Ae 

3dly, From this definition of a cause, it follows, that we have 
no reason to conclude, that every event must have a cause: for 
innumerable events happen, when it cannot be shown that there 
were certain previous circumstances that have constantly been 
followed by such an event. And though it were certain, that 
every event we have had access to observe had a cause, it would 
not follow, that every event must have a cause: for it is con- 
trary to the rules of logic to conclude, that, because a thing has 
always been, therefore it.must be; to reason from what is con- 
tingent, to what is necessary. 

Athly, From this definition of a cause, it would follow, that we 


OF ARGUMENTS F@R NECESSITY. 221 


have no reason to conclude that there was any cause of the 
creation of this world: for there were no previous circumstan- 
ces that had been constantly followed by such an effect. And, 
for the same reason, it would follow from the definition, that 
whatever was singular in its nature, or the first thing of its kind, 
could have no cause. 

Several of these consequences were fondly embraced by Mr. 
Hume, as necessarily following from his definition of a cause, 
and as favourable to his system of absolute skepticism. Those 
who adopt the definition of a cause, from which they follow, 
may choose whether they will adopt its consequences, or show 
that they do not follow from the definition. 

A second observation with regard to this argument is, that a 
definition of a cause may be given, which is not burdened with 
such untoward consequences. 

Why may notan efficient cause be defined to be a being that 
had powerand will to produce the effect? The production of an 
effect requires active power, and active power, being a quality, 
must be in a being endowed with that power. Power without 
will produces no effect; but, where these are conjoined, the 
effect must be produced. 

This, I think, is the proper meaning of the word cause, when 
it is used in metaphysics ; and particularly when we aifirm, that 
every thing that begins to exist must have a cause ; and when, 
by reasoning, we prove, that there must be an eternal First 
Cause of all things. 

‘Was the world produced by previous circumstances which are 
constantly followed by such an effect? or, was it produced by 
a Being that had power to produce it, and willed its produc- 
tion ? 

In natural philosophy, the word cause is often used in a very 
different sense. When an event is produced according to a 
known law of nature, the law of nature is called the cause of 
that event. But a law of nature is not the efficient cause of any 
event. It is only the rule, according to which the efficient cause 
acts. A law is a thing conceived in the mind of a rational being, 
not a thing that has areal existence; and, therefore, like a 
motive, it can neither act nor be acted upon, and consequently 
cannot be an efficient cause. If there be no being that acts 
according to the law, it produces no effect. 

This author takes it for granted, that every voluntary action 
of man was determined to be what it was by the laws of nature, 
in the same sense as mechanical motions are determined by the 
laws of motion; and that every choice, not thus determined, 
“js just as impossible, as that a mechanical motion should 
depend upon no certain law or rule, or that any other effect 
should exist without a cause.” 

{t ought here to. he observed, that there are two kinds of 

VOL. Uf. 29 


eS 


292 ESSAY [Ve 


laws, both very properly called daws of nature, which ought net 
tobe confounded. There are moral laws of nature, and physi-. 
cal laws of nature. The first are the rules which God has pre- 
scribed to his rational creatures for their conduct. They re- 
spect voluntary and free actions only ; for no other actions 
be subject to moral rules. These laws of nature ought t 
always obeyed, but they are often transgressed bymen. T 
is therefore no impossibility in the violation of the moral laws of 
nature, nor is sucha violation an effect without a cause. The 
transgressor is the cause, and is justly accountable for it. = 
The physical laws of nature are the rules according to which 
the Deity commonly acts in bis natural government of the world ; 
and, whatever is done according to them, is not done by man, 
but by God, either immediately, or by instruments under his 
direction. These laws of nature neither restrain the power of 
the Author of nature, nor bring him under any obligation to do 
nothing beyond their sphere. He has sometimes acted contrary 
to them, in the case of miracles, and, perhaps, often acts without 
regard to them, in the ordinary course of his providence. Neither 
miraculous events, which are contrary to the physical laws of 
nature, nor such ordinary acts of the Divine administration as 
are without their sphere, are impossible, nor are they effects 
without a cause. God is the cause of them, and to him only they 
are to be imputed. ‘x AQ AiGS 
That the moral laws of nature are often transgressed ‘by man, 


isundeniable. If the physical laws of nature make his obedi-_ 


ence to the moral laws to be impossible, then he is, in the literal 
sense, born under one law, bound unto another, which contradicts 
every notion ofa righteous government of theworld. 
But though this supposition were attended with no such 
shocking consequence, it is merely a supposition ; and until it 
be proved that every choice, or voluntary action of man, is 
determined by the physical laws of nature, this argument for 
necessity is only the taking for granted the point to be proved. 
Of the same kind is the argument for the impossibility of 
liberty, taken from a balance, which cannot move but as a 
moved by the weights put intoit. This argument, though urge 
by almost every writer in defence of necessity, is so pitiful, and 
has been so often answered, that it scarce deserves to be men- 
tioned. st gg heal 
Every argument ina dispute, which is not grounded on princi- 
ples granted by both parties, is that kind of sophism which logi- 
cians Call pettizo princyu ; and such, inmy apprehension, 
the arguments offered to prove that liberty of action 1s in 
ble. ' : eld Itech 
It may farther be observed, that every argument of this class, 
if it were really conclusive, must extend to the Deity, as well 
as to all created beings ; and necessary existence, which has 


a 


OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 223 


always been considered as the prerogative of the Supreme Be- 
ing, must belong equally to every creature and to every event, 
even the most trifling. | 

‘This I take to be the system of Spinosa, and of those among 
the ancients, who carried fatality to the highest pitch. 

I before referred the reader to Dr. Clarke’s argument, which 
professes to demonstrate, that the First Cause is a free agent. 
Until that argument shall be shown to be fallacious, a thing 
which | have not seen attempted, such weak arguments as have 
heen brought to prove the contrary, ‘ought to have little weight. 


CHAPTER X. 
THE SAME SUBJECT, 


WITH regard to the second class of arguments for necessity, 
which are intended to prove, that liberty of action would be 
hurtful to man, I have only to observe, that it is a fact too evident 
to be denied, whether we adopt the system of liberty or that of 
necessity, that men actually receive hurt from their own volun- 
tary actions, and from the voluntary actions of other men; nor 
can it be pretended, that this fact is inconsistent with the doctrine 
of liberty, or that itis more unaccountable upon this system 
than upen that of necessity. 

In order, therefore, to draw any solid argument against liberty, 
from its hurtfulness, it ought to be proved, that, if man were a free 
agent, he would do more hurt to himself, or to others, than he 
actually does. 

To this purpose it has been said, that liberty would make 
men’s actions capricious ; that it would destroy the influence of 
motives ; that it would take away the effect of rewards and 


punishments ; and that it would make man absolutely ungovern- 


able« 

These arguments have been already considered in the fourth 
and fifth chapters of this Essay; and, therefore, | shall now 
proceed to the third class of arguments for necessity, which are 
intended to prove, that, in fact, men are not free agents. 

The most formidable argument of this class, and, 1 think, the 
only one that has not been considered in some of the preceding 
chapters, is taken from the prescience of the Deity. 


God foresees every determination of the human mind. It 


must therefore be what he foresees it shall be ; and therefore 
must be necessary. 

This argument may be understood three different ways, each 
of which we shall consider, that we may see all its forces. 


924 ESSAY IV. 


The necessity of the event may be thought to be a just conse’ 
quence, either ‘barely from its being certainly future, or barely 
from its being foreseen, or from the impossibility of its being 


foreseen, if it was not necessary. tay 

Ist, It may be thought, that, as nothing can be known to be 
future which is not certainly future » ; so if it becort ture, 
it must be necessary. «1b et Gane di 


This opinion has no less authority in Pre fevckasatial that of 
Aristotle, who indeed held the doctrine of liberty, but believing, 
at the same time, that whatever is certainly future must be 
necessary ; in order to defend the liberty of human actions,’ 
maintained, that contingent events have no certain futurity ;. 
but I know of no modern advocate: for libianeye’ rye has put 
the defence of it upon that issue. A 

It must. be granted, that as whatever was, content ‘was, 

and whatever is, certainly is, so whatever shall be, certainly 
shall be. These are identical propositions, and cannot be doubt- 
ed by those who conceive them distinctly. Bi. 

But I know no rule of reasoning by which it can be inferred, 
that, because an event certainly shall be, therefore its. produc- 
tion must be necessary. The manner of its production, 
whether free or necessary, cannot be concluded from the 
time of its production, whether it be past, present, or future. 
That it shall be, no more implies that it shall be necessarily, 
than that it shall be freely produced; for neither present, 
pasi, nor. future, have any more connexion with pes ope 


than they have with freedom. Sag ho rt 


I grant, therefore, that from events being forbes it may te 
justly concluded, that they are certainly future ; but from their 
being certainly future, it does not follow that they are necessary. 

Qdly, if it be meant by this argument, that an event must be 
necessary, merely because it is foreseen, neither is this a just 
consequence : for it has often been observed, that prescience 
and knowledge of every kind, being an immanent act, has no 
effect upon the thing known. Its mode of: existence, whether 
it be free or necessary, is notin the least affected by its being 
known to be future, any more than by its being known to be past’ 
or present. The Deity foresees his own future free actions, but 


neither his foresight nor his purpose makes them necessary. 


The argument, therefore, taken in this view, as well as in the 
former, is inconclusive. es Wey pe eet as 


A third way in which this argument may be understood, is 


this : it is impossible that an event which is not necessary should 
be foreseen; therefore every event that is certainly foreseen, 
must be necessary. Here the conclusion certainly follows from 
the antecedent proposition, and therefore the ep eves of the 
argument lies upon the proof of that proposition. | — 

Let us consider, therefore, whether it can be edict that no 


OF ARGUMENTS POR NECESSITY. 295 


free action can be certainly foreseen. If this can be proved, it 
will follow, either that all actions are necessary, or that all ac- 
tions cannot be foreseen. 

With regard to the general proposition, that it is impossible 
that any free action can be certainly foreseen, I observe, 

Ist, That every man who believes the Deity to be a free 
agent, must believe that this proposition not only is incapable of 
proof, but that it is certainly false: for the man himself foresees, 
that the Judge of al! the earth will always do what is right, and 
that he will fulfil whatever he has promised; and at the same 
time, believes, that, in doing what is right, and in fulfilling his 
promises, the Deity acts with the most perfect freedom. 

2dly, I observe, that every man who believes that it is an ab- 
surdity or contradiction, that any free action should be certainly 
foreseen, must believe, if he will be consistent, either that the 
Deity is not a free agent, or that he does not foresee his own ac- 
tions ; nor can we foresee that he will do what is right, and will 
fulfil his promises. 

3dly, Without considering the consequences which this gene- 
ral proposition carries in its bosom, which give it a very bad 
aspect, let us attend to the arguments offered to prove it. > 

Dr. Priestley has laboured more in the proof of this proposi- 
tion than any other author | am acquainted with, and maintains 
it to be, not only a difficulty and a mystery, as it has been called, 
that a contingent event should be the object of knowledge, but 
that, in reality, there cannot be a greater absurdity or contradic- 
tion. Let us hear the proof of this. 

“For,” says he, “as certainly as nothing canbe known to 
exist, but what does exist; so certainly can nothing be known 
to arise from what does exist, but what does arise from it, or 

,depend upon it. But, according to the definition of the terms, 

a contingent event does not depend upon any previous known 
circumstances, since some other event might have arisen in 
the same circumstsnces.”’ 

This argument, when stripped of incidental and explanatory 
elauses, and affected variations of expression, amounts to 
this: nothing can be known to arise from what does exist, 
but what does arise from it: but a contingent event does not 
arise from what does exist. The conclusion, which is left 
to be drawn by the reader, must, according to the rules of 
reasoning, be—therefore a contingent event cannot be known 
to arise from what does exist. ’ 

It is here very obvious, that a thing may arise from what 
does exist, two ways, freely or necessarily. A contingent event 
arises from its cause, not necessarily, but freely, and so, that 
another event might have arisen from the same cause, in the 
same circumstances. 

The second proposition of the argument is. that a contin- 


226 ESSAY 1V. 


gent event does not depend upon any previous known cit 
cumstances, which I take to be only a variation of the term 
of not arising from what does exist. Therefore, in order to 
make the two propositions to correspond, we must understand 
by arising from what does ewist, arising necessarily from what 


does exist. When this ambiguity is removed, the argument 
stands thus: nothing can be known to arise necessarily from 
what does exist, but what does necessarily arise from it: but 


a contingent event does not arise necessarily from w 
exist; therefore a contingent event cannot be known to a 
necessarily from what does exist. A Re ate 
I grant the whole; but the conclusion of this argument is 
not what he undertook to prove, and, therefore, the argument 
is that kind of sophism which logicians'call ignorantia elenchi. 
The thing to be proved is not, that a contingent event 
cannot be known to arise necessarily from what exists; but 
that a contingent future event cannot be the object of know- 
ledge. iis ih. vende 
To draw the argument to this conclusion, it must be put thus : 
nothing can be known to arise from what does exist, bat what 
arises necessarily from it: buta contingent event does not arise 
necessarily from what does exist; therefore a contingent event 
cannot be known to arise from what does exist. = 
The conclusion here is what it ought to be; but the first 
proposition assumes the thing to be proved, and therefore 
the argument is what logicians call petitio prineipi. 
To the same purpose he says, “ that nothing can be known at 
present, except itself or its necessary cause exist at present.” 
This is affirmed, but I find no proof of it. oil 49h 
Again he says, “ that knowledge supposes an object, which, in 
this case, does not exist.” It is true, that knowledge supposes 
an object, and every thing that is known is an object of know- 
ledge, whether past, present, or future, whether contingent or 
necessary. ta hon, 
Upon the whole, the arguments | can find upon this point, bear 
no proportion to the confidence of the assertion, that there cannot — 
be a greater absurdity or contradiction, than that a contingent 
event should be the object of knowledge. fA RR I 
To those who, without pretending to show a manifest absur- 
dity or contradiction in the knowledge of future a 
events, are still of opinion, that it is impossible that the future 
free actions of man, a being of imperfect wisdom and virtue, 
should be certainly foreknown, J would humbly offer the 
ing considerations. ‘hp ES Re 
ist, | grant that there is no knowledge of this kind in man ; 
and this is the cause that we find it so difficult to conceive 
it in any other being. CaBEA REA 
All our knowledge of future events is drawn either from their 


OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 227 


necessary connexion with the present course of nature, or from 

their connexion with the character of the agent that produces 

them. Our knowledge, even of those future events that neces- 

sarily result from the established laws of nature, is hypothetical. 

It supposes the continuance of those laws with which they are 

connected. And how long those laws may be continued, we 

have no certain knowledge. God only knows when the present: 
course of nature shall be changed, and therefore he only has 

certain knowledge even of events of this kind. roves 

The character of perfect wisdom and perfect rectitude in 
the Deity, gives us certain knowledge that. he will always be 
true-in all his declarations, faithful in all his promises, and just 
in all his dispensations. But when we reason from the character 
of men to their future actions, though, in many cases, we have 
such probability as we rest upon in our most important worldly 
concerns, yet we have no certainty, because men are imperfect 
in wisdom and in virtue. If we had even the most perfect 
knowledge of the character and situation of a man, this would 
not be sufficient to give certainty to our knowledge of his 
future actions; because, in some actions, both good and bad 
men deviate from their general character. 

The prescience of the Deity, therefore, must be different not 
only in degree, but in kind, from any knowledge we can attain 
of futurity. 

_ Qdly, Though we can have no conception how the future free 

actions of men may be known by the Deity, this is nota sufii- 
eient reason to conclude that they cannot be known. Do we 
know, or can we conceive, how, God knows the secrets of 
men’s hearts? Can we conceive how God made this world, 
without any pre-existent matter? All the ancient philosophers 
believed this to be impossible : and for what reason but this, that 
they could not conceive how it could be done. Can we give 
any better reason for believing that the actions of men cannot 
be certainly foreseen ? 

3dly, Can we conceive how we ourselves have certain 
knowledge by those faculties with which God has endowed us ? 
If any man thinks that he understands distinctly how he is con- 
scious of his own thoughts ; how he perceives external objects by 
his senses ; how he remembers past events, I am afraid that 
he is not yet so wise as to, understand his own ignorance. 

A4thly, There seems to me to be a great analogy between the 
prescience of future contingents, and the memory of past 
contingents. We possess ‘the last in some degree, and there- 
fore find no difficulty in believing that it may be perfect in the 
Deity. But the first we have in no degree, and therefore are 
apt to think it impossible. . 

In both, the object of knowledge is neither what presently 
exists, nor has any necessary connexion with what presently 


226 ESSAK LY. 


exists. Livery argument brought to prove the impossibility of 
prescience, proves, with equal force, the impossibility of 
memory. If it be true that nothing can be known to arise 


— 


from what does exist, but what necessarily arises from it, it must — 


be equally true, that nothing can be known to have gone be- 
fore what does exist, but what must necessarily h ore 
‘it. If it be true that nothing future can phd its 
necessary cause exist at. present, it must be equally true that 
nothing past can be known unless. something consequent, with 
which it is necessarily connected, ,exist at present. . "Th the 

Fatalist should say, that past events are indeed necessarily 
connected with the, present, he will not surely venture to,say, 
that it is by tracing this necessary connexion, that we remem- 
ber the past. - eT 7 

Why then should, we think prescience impossible in th 

Almighty, when he has given us a faculty which bears a strong 
analogy to it, and which is no less unaccountable to: the human 
understanding, than prescience is. It is more reasonable as 
well as more agreeable to the sacred writings, to conclude with 
a pious father of the church, ‘“‘ Quocirca nullo modo, cogimur, 
aut retenta praescientia Dei. tollere voluntatis. arbitrium, aut 
retento voluntatis arbitrio, Deum, quod nefas est, née 
scium futurorum : Sed utrumque amplectimur, utrumque 
et veraciter confitemur : Illud ut bene credamus; hoc ut 


Dies 


vivamus.”” Aue, , «3 gators Bad hase 


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ANOTHER use has ieee ade or Divine idee 
the advocates for necessity, which it is proper to. 
before we leave this subject. oa 

It has been said, “ that all those consequences “follow ho 
the Divine prescience which are thought most ap ning | in 
scheme of necessity; and, particularly God’s bei ing tl he. Dr 
cause of moral evil. For, to suppose God to foresee wy Hi 

s 
¥ 


OF THE PERMISSION OF BYIL, — er 


mgt sa, ate Uy: 


what it was in his power to have prevented, is the ver 
thing, as to suppose him to will, and directly to cau se 
distinctly foresees all the actions of a man’s life, and ai 
consequences of them: if, therefore, he did ot thi ey 
particular man and his conduct proper for his. pla ne if 
and providence, he certainly would not have in itrodaced him 
into being at all.” . : 

In this reasoning we may observe, that a a me nis made 

tyhich seems to contradict itself, _ 


wrt wyih of 


—< £27 ee ee 


a er 


OF THE PERMISSION OP EVIL. 299 


‘That all the actions of a particular man should be distinctly 
foreseen, and, at the same.time, that that man should never be 
brought into existence, seems to me to be a contradiction : and 
the same contradiction there is, in supposing any action to be 
distinctly foreseen, and yet prevented. For, if it be foreseen, 
it shall happen; and if it be prevented, it shall not happen, 
and therefore could not be foreseen. 

The knowledge here supposed is neither prescience nor 
science, but something very different from both. It is a kind 
of knowledge, which some metaphysical divines, in their con- 
troversies about the order of the Divine decrees, a subject far 
beyond the limits of human understanding, attributed to the 
Deity, and of which other divines denied the possibility, while 
they firmly maintained the Divine prescience. 

It was called scientia media, to distinguish it from prescience ; 
and by this scientta media was meant, not the knowing from 
eternity all things that shall exist, which is prescience, nor the 
knowing all the connexions and relations of things that exist or 
may be conceived, which is science, but a knowledge of things 
contingent, that never did nor shall exist. For instance, the 
knowing every action that would be done bya man who is barely 
conceived, and shall never be brought into existence. 

Against the possibility of the scentia media arguments may be 
urged, which cannot be applied to prescience. ‘Thus it may be 
said, that nothing can be known but whatis true. Itis true that 
the fature actions of a free agent shall exist, and therefore we 
see no impossibility in its being known that they shall exist 
but with regard to the free actions of an agent that never did 
nor shall exist, there is nothing true, and therefore nothing can 
be known. To say that the being conceived, would certainly 
act in such a way, if placed in such a situation, if it have any 
meaning, is to say, that his acting in that way is the consequence 
of the conception; but this contradicts the supposition of its 
being a free action. 

Things merely conceived have no relations or connexions 
but such as are implied in the conception, or are consequent 
from it. Thus I conceive two circles in the same plane. If 
this be all I conceive, it is not true that these circles are equal 
or unequal, because neither of these relations is implied in the 
conception; yet if the two circles really existed, they must be 
either equal or unequal. Again, I conceive two circles in the 
same plane, the distance of whose centres is equal to the sum 
of their semidiameters. It is true of these circles, that they 
will touch one another, because this follows from the concep- 
tion ; byt it is not true that they will be equal or unequal, be- 
cause neither of these relations is implied in the conception, 
nor is consequent from it. 

In like manner. I can conceive a being who has power fo do 

VOL. NI 30 


230 ESSAY ‘1V, 


an indifferent action, or not to do it. It is wot true that he 
would do it, nor is it true that he would not do it, because nei-+ 
ther is implied in my conception, nor follows from it; and what 
is not true cannot be known. ON a aes 
Though I do not perceive any fallacy in this argument against 
a scientia media, 1 am sensible how apt we are to err in apply- 
ing what belongs to our conceptions and our knowledge, to the 
conceptions and knowledge of the Supreme Being; and, there- 
fore, without pretending to determine for or against a scientia 
media, I only observe, that to suppose that the Deity prevents 
what he foresees by his prescience, is a contradiction; and that 
to know that a contingent event which he sees fit not to permit 
would certainly happen if permitted, is not prescience, but the 
scientia media whose existence or possibility we are under no _ne- 
cessity of admitting. — bo) AMR hee > 
Waiving all dispute about scientia media, we acknowledge, that 
nothing can happen under the administration of the Deity, 
which he does not see fit to permit. The permissi6n of natural 
and moral evil, is a phenomenon which cannot be disputed. 
To account for this phenomenon under the government of a Be- 
ing of infinite goodness, justice, wisdom, and power, has in all 
ages, been considered as difficult to human reason, whether we 
embrace the system of liberty or that of necessity. But, if the 
difficulty of accounting for this phenomenon upon the system of 
necessity, be as great as it is upon the system of liberty, it 
can have no weight when used as an argument against liberty. 
The defenders of necessity, to reconcile it tothe principles of 
theism, find themselves obliged to give up all the moral attributes 
of God, excepting that of goodness, ora desire to produce hap- 
piness. ‘This they hold to be the sole motive of his making and 
governing the universe. Justice, veracity, faithfulness, are 
only modifications of goodness, the means of promoting its pur- 
poses, and are exercised only so far as they serve that end. 
Virtue is acceptable to him, and vice displeasing, only as the 
first tends to produce happiness, and the last misery. Heis the 
proper cause and agent of all moral evil as well as good ; but 
it is for a good end, to produce the greater happiness to his 
creatures.- He does evil that good may come; and this end 
sanctifies the worst actions that contribute to it. All the wick- 
edness of men being the work of God, he must, when he sur 
veys it,/pronounce it, as well as all his other works, to be very 
ood. . 0 By: 
This view of the Divine nature, the only one consistent with 
the scheme of necessity, appears to me much more shocking 
than the permission of evil upon the scheme of liberty.  Itis 
said, that it requires only strength of mind to embrace it: to me 
it seems to require much strength of countenance to profess it. 
‘Tn this system. as in Cleanthes’s Tablature of the Epicurean 


- 


GF THE PERMISSION GF EVIL. 234 


system, pleasure or happiness is placed upon the throne as the 
queen, to whom all the virtues bear the humble office of menial 
servants. | 

As the end of the Deity, in all his actions, is not his own good, 
which can receive no addition, but the good of his creatures, 
and, as his creatures are capable of this disposition in some de- 
gree, is he not pleased with this image of himself in his crea- 
tures, and displeased with the contrary ? Why then should he 
be the author of malice, envy, revenge, tyranny, and oppres- 
sion in their hearts? Other vices that have no malevolence in 
them may please such a Deity, but surely malevolence cannot 
please him. 

If we form our notions of the moral attributes of the Deity 
from what we see of his government of the world, from the dic- 
tatés of reason and conscience, or from the doctrine of revela- 
tion ; justice, veracity, faithfulness, the love of virtue and dis- 
like of vice, appear to be no less essential attributes of his na- 
ture than goodness. 

In man, who is made after the image of God, goodness, er 
benevolence, is indeed an essential part of virtue, but it is net 
the whole. 

I am ata loss what arguments can be brought to prove good- 
ness to be essential to the Deity, which will not, with equal 
force, prove other moral attributes to be so; or what objections 
can be brought against the latter, which have not equal strength 
against the former, unless it be admited to be an objection against 
other moral attributes, that they do not accord with the doc- 
trine of necessity. 

If other moral evils may be attributed to the Deity as the 
means of promoting general good, why may not false declarations 
and false promises ? Andthen what ground have we left to be- 
lieve the truth of what he reveals, or to rely upon what he 
promises ? 

Supposing this strange view of the Divine nature were to be 
adopted in favour of the doctrine of necessity, there is still a 
great difficulty to be resolved. 

Since it is supposed, that the Supreme Being had no other 
end in making and governing the universe, but to produce the 
greatest degree of happiness to his creatures in general, how 
comes it to pass, that there is so much misery in a system made 
and governed by infinite wisdom and power for a contrary 
purpose ? 

_ The solution of this difficulty leads us necessarily to another 
hypothesis, that all the misery and vice that is in the world isa 
necessary ingredient in that system which produces the greatest 
sum of happiness. upon the whole. This connexion between 
the greatest sum of happiness and all the misery that is in the 
universe. must be fatal and necessary in the nature of things, sa 


JS2 ESSAY IV. 


that even Aimighty power cannot break it» for benevolence can 
never lead to inflict misery without necessity.) 
This necessary connexion between the greatest sum of bape 
piness upon the whole, and all the natural and moral evil that is, 
or has been, orshall be, being once established, it is ible 
for mortal eyes to discern how far this evil mnpeaticend on 
whom it may happen to fall; whether this fatal connexionmay 
be temporary or eternal, or what proportion of the 
may be balanced by it. 40d vw ol OW beta 
A world made by perfect wisdom and Almighty power, for'no 
other end but to make it happy, presents the most pleasing pros- 


pect that can be imagined. We expect nothing but uninter- - 


rupted happiness to prevail for ever. But, alas! when we con- 
sider that in this happiest system, there must be necessarily all 
the misery and vice we see, and how much more we know not, 
how is the prospect darkened ! i Pacis: 
These two hypotheses, the one limiting the moraldhaeneniié 
of the Deity, the other limiting his power, seem to meito be'the 


necessary consequences of necessity, when it is joined with ~ 


theism; and they have accordingly been adopted by the ablest 
defenders of that doctrine. or 

If some defenders of liberty, by limiting too rashly- the Di- 
vine prescience, in order to defend that system, have raised high 
indignation in their opponents ; have they not equal ground of 
indignation against those, who, to defend necessity, limit: ne 
moral perfection of the Deity, and his Almighty power? . 

Let us consider, on the other hand, what consequences "may 
be fairly drawn from God’s permitting the abuse of liberty in 
agents on whom he has bestowed it. a ae 

If it be asked, why does God permit so much sin in his crea- 
tion? I confess I cannot answer the question, but must lay my 
hand upon my mouth. He giveth no account of his conduet to 
the children of men. Itis our part to obey his Comimyanateg and 
not to say unto him, why dost thou thus ? 

Hypotheses might be framed ; but, while we have ground to 


be satisfied, that he does nothing but what is right, it is more 


becoming us to acknowledge that the ends and reasons of his 
universal government are beyond our knowledge, and perhaps 


beyond the comprehension of human understanding. Wecan- 


not penetrate so far into the counsel of the Almighty, as to 
know all the reasons why it became him, of whom are ‘all 
things, and to whom are all things, to create, not only machines, 


which are solely. moved by his hand, but servants and children, — 


who, by obeying his commands, and imitating his moral perfec- 
tions, might rise to a high degree of glory and happiness in his 
favour, or, by perverse disobedience, might incur guilt and just 
punishment. In this he appears to us awful in nee paatin’; as 
well as amiable in his goodness. 


: 
| 
: 


OF SHE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 233 


_ Bat, as he disdains not to appeal to men for the equity of his 
proceedings toward them when his character is impeached, we 
, with humble reverence, plead for God, and vindicate that 
moral excellence which is the glory of his nature, and of which 
the image is the glory and the perfection of man. 
_ Let us observe first of all, that fo permit has two meanings, 
It signifies not to forbid, and it signifies not to hinder by supe 
rior power. In the first of these senses, God never permits 
sin. His law forbids every moral evil. By his laws and by his 
government, he gives every encouragement to good conduct 
and every discouragement to bad. But he does not always, by 
his superior power, hinder it from being committed. This & 
the ground of the accusation; and this, it is said, is the very 
same thing as directly to will and to cause it. 

As this is asserted without proof, and is far from being selé 
evident, it might be sufficient to deny it until it be proved. 
Bat, without resting barely on the defensive, we may observe, 
that the only moral attributes that can be supposed inconsistent 
with the permission of sin, are either goodness or justice. 

The defenders of necessity, with whom we have to doin this 
point, as they maintain that goodness 1s the only essential moral 
attribute of the Deity, and the motive of all his actions, must, 
if they will be consistent, maintain, that to will, and directly te 
eause sin, much more not to hinder it, is consistent with perfect 
goodness, nay, that goodness is a sufficient motive to justify the 
willing and directly causing it. 

With regard to them, therefore, it is surely unnecessary to 

attempt to reconcile the permission of sin with the goodness of 
God, since an inconsistency between that attribute and the 
causing of sin would overturn their whole system. 
' If the causing of moral evil, and being the real author of ii, 
be consistent with perfect goodness, what pretence can there 
be to say, that not to hinder it is inconsistent with perfect good- 
ness ? 

What is incumbent upon them, therefore, to prove is, that 
the permission of sin is inconsistent with justice; and, upon this 
point, we are ready to join issue with them. 

But what pretence can there be to say, that the permission of 
sin is perfectly consistent with goodness in the Deity, but in- 
consistent with justice ? 

Is it not as easy to conceive, that he should permit sin, though 
virtue be his delight, as that he inflicts misery, when his sole 
delight is to bestow happiness? Should it appear incredible, 
that the permission of sin may tend to promote virtue, to them 
who believe that the infliction of misery is necessary to pro- 
mote happiness ? 

"Phe justice, as well as the goodness of God’s moral govern- 
ment of mankind. appears in this: that his Jaws are not arbi- 


334 ESSAY TV. 


trary nor grievous, as it is only by the obedience of them that 
ur nature can be perfected and qualified for future happiness; 
tat he is ready to aid our weakness, to help our infirmities, 
nd not to suffer us to. be tempted above what. we are able to 
bear; that he is not strict to mark iniquity, or to execute judg- 
ment speedily against an evil work, but is long-suffering, and 
waits to be gracious ; that he is ready to receive the humble 
enitent to his favour; that he is no respecter of persons, but 
m every nation he that fears God and works righteousness is 
accepted of him ; that of every man he will require an account, 
proportioned to the talents he has received; that he delights in 
mercy, but has no pleasure in the death of the wicked; and 
therefore in punishing will never go beyond the demerit of the 
criminal, nor beyond what the rules of his universal, govern~ 
ment require. % Tabs at 
There were, in ancient ages, some who said, the way of the 
Lord is not equal; to whom the prophet,—in the name of God, 
makes this reply, which, in all ages, is sufficient to repel this 
accusation. Hear now, O house of Israel, Is not my way equal, 
are not your ways unequal? When a righteous man turneth 
away from his righteousness, and committeth iniquity ; for his 
iniquity which he has done shall he die.. Again, when a wicked 
man turneth away from his wickedness that he has committed, 
and doth that which is lawful and right, he shall save, his soul 
alivé. O house of Israel, are not my ways equal, are not your 
ways unequal? Repent, and turn from all your transgressions ; 
so iniquity shall not be your ruin. Cast away from you all your 
transgressions whereby you have transgressed, and make you a 
new heart and a new spirit, for why will ye die, O house of 
fsrael ? For I have no pleasure in the death.of him that dieth, 
saith the Lord God. ro atheaaindt Al 
Another argument for necessity has been lately offered, which 
we shall very briefly consider. Lhd qatgrsdtad ad 
It has been maintained, that the power of thinking is the re- 
sult of a certain modification of matter, and that a certain con- 
figuration of brain makes a soul; and, if man be wholly a ma- 
terial being, it is said, that it will not be denied, that he must 
be a mechanical being; that the doctrine of necessity is a direct 
inference from that of materialism, and its undoubted conse- 
quence. caked (eeendial 
As this argument can have no weight with those who do not 
see reason to embrace this system of materialism; so, eyen 
with those who do, it seems to me to be a mere sophism. 
» Philosophers have been wont to conceive matter to be an 
inert passive being, and to have certain properties inconsistent 
with the power of thinking or of acting. But a philosopher 
arises, who proves, we shall suppose, that we were quite 
mistaken in our notion of matter: that it has not the properties 


i 


’ 


¢ 


OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 285 


We supposed, and, in fact, has no properties but those of at- 
traction and repulsion; but still he thinks, that, being matter, 
it will not be denied that it is a mechanical being, and that the 
doctrine of necessity is a direct inference from that of materi- 
alism. 

_ Herein, however, he deceives himself. If matter be what 
we conceived it to be, it is equally incapable of thinking and 
of acting freely.. But if the properties, from which we drew 
this conclusion, have no reality, as he thinks he has proved ; 
if it have the powers of attraction and repulsion, and require 
only a certain configuration to make it think rationally, it will 
be impossible to show any good reason why the same configura- 
tion may not make it act rationally and freely. If its reproach 
of solidity, inertness, and sluggishness be wiped off; and if it 
be raised in our esteem to a nearer approach to the nature of 
what we call spiritual and immaterial beings, why should it still 
be nothing but a mechanical being? Is its solidity, inertness, 
and sluggishness to be first removed to make it capable of 
thinking, and then restored in order to make it incapable of 
acting ? 

Those, therefore, who reason justly from this system of ma- 
terialism, will easily perceive, that the doctrine of necessity is 
so far from being a direct inference, that it can receive no sup- 
port from it. 

To conclude this Essay: extremes of all kinds ought to be 
avoided; yet men are prone to run into them; and, to shun 
one extreme, we often run into the contrary. 

Of all extremes of opinions, none are more dangerous than 
those that exalt the powers of man too high, on the one hand, 
-or sink them too low om the other. 

_ By raising them too high, we feed pride and vain glory; 
we lose the sense of our dependence upon God, and engage 
in attempts beyond our abilities. By depressing them too 
low, we cut the sinews of action and of obligation, and are 
tempted to think, that, as we can do nothing, we have nothing 
to do, but to be carried passively along by the stream of ne- 
cessity. 

Some good men, apprehending that, to kill pride and vain 
glory, our active powers cannot be too much depressed, have 
been led, by zeal for religion, to deprive us of all active pow- 
er. Other good men, by a like zeal, have been led to depre- 
ciate the human understanding, and to put out the light of na- 
ture and reason, in order to exalt that of revelation. 

Those weapons which were taken up in support of religion, 
are how employed to overturn it; and what was, by some, ac- 
counted the bulwark of orthodoxy, is become the strong hold 
of atheism and infidelity. 


2b ESSAY IV. 


Atheists join hands with theologians, in depriving man of all 
active power, that they may destroy all moral obligation, and 
all sense of right and wrong. They join hands with theolo- 
gians, in depreciating the human understanding, that they may 
lead us into absolute skepticism. 

God, in mercy to the human race, has made us of such a 
frame, that no speculative opinion whatsoever can root out the 
sense of guilt and demerit when we do wrong, nor the peace 
and joy of a good conscience when we do what is right. No 
speculative opinion can root out a regard to the testimony of our 
senses, of our memory, and of our rational faculties. But we 
have reason to be jealous of opinions which run counter to those 
natural sentiments of the human mind, and tend toshake, though 
they never can eradicate them. 

There is little reason to fear, that the conduct of men, with 
regard to the concerns of the present life, will ever be much 
affected, either by the doctrine of necessity, or by skepticism. 
It were to be wished, that men’s conduct, with regard to the 
concerns of another life, were in as little danger from those 
opinions. 

In the present state, we see some who zealously maintain 
the doctrine of necessity, others who as zealously maintain that 
of liberty. One would be apt to think, that a practical belief 
of these contrary systems should produce very different con- 
duct in them that hold them; yet we see nosuch difference in 
the affairs of common life. 

The Fatalist deliberates, and resolves, and plights his faith. 
He lays down a plan of conduct, and prosecutes it with vigour 
and industry. He exhorts, and commands, and holds those to 
be answerable for their conduct to whom he has committed any 
charge. He blames those that are false or unfaithful to him, 
as other men do. He perceives dignity and worth in some 
characters and actions, and in others, demerit and turpitude. 
He resents injuries, and is grateful for good offices. 

If any man should plead the doctrine of necessity to excul- 
pate murder, theft, or robbery, or even wilful negligence in the 
discharge of his duty, his judge, though a Fatalist, if he had 
common sense, would laugh at such a plea, and would not allow 
it even to alleviate the crime. 

In all such cases, he sees that it would be absurd not to act 
and to judge as those ought to do who believe themselves and 
other men to be free agents, just as the skeptic, to avoid absur- 
dity, must, when he goes into the world, act and judge like other 
men who are not skeptics. - 

if the Fatalist be as little influenced by the opinion of ne- 
cessity in his moral and religious concerns, and in his expecta- 
fions concerning another world. as he is in the common affairs of 


OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 237 


life, his speculative opinion will probably do him little hurt. 
But, if he trust so far to the doctrine of necessity, as to indulge 
sloth and inactivity in his duty, and hope to exculpate himself 
to his Maker by that doctrine, Jet him consider whether he sus- 
tains this excuse from his servants and dependants, when they 
are negligent or unfaithful in whatis committed to their charge. 

‘Bishop Butler, in his 4nalogy, has an excellent chapter upon 
the opinion of necessity, considered as influencing practice, which I 
think highly deserving the consideration of those who are in-’ 
clined to that opinion. 


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POR OM 9 oft ni et otf og gbhver sari HO 9K 


7h ‘ é yevin : : | 
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ESSAY. VJ bute iermtings 
He's “2 yee Pete) 
rin) “re eee 
; vant ) rte ite ties 
OF MORALS, | /Sitioenaeniaas 
’ ns ' a 
CHAPTER Iyi4 »:?eeerneninyytein 


; ihrer 
OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. td Ld 
a | 


MORALS, like all other scientes, must have first principles, 
on which all moral reasoning is grounded. REISE 

In every branch of knowledge where disputes have been 
raised, it is useful to distinguish the first principles from the su- 
perstructure. They are the foundation on which the whole 
fabric of the science leans ; and whatever is not supported by 
this foundation can have no stability. ch Ta 

In all rational belief, the thing believed is either ‘itself a first 
- principle, or it is by just reasoning deduced from first principles. 
When men differ about deductions of reasoning, the appeal 
must be made to the rules of reasoning, which have been very 
unanimously fixed from the days of Aristotle. But when they 
differ abouta first principle, the appeal is made toanother tribu- 
nal; to that of common sense. Tr OOH GeegBitie 

How the genuine decisions of common sense may be distin- 
guished from the counterfeit, has been considered in essay sixth, 
on the intellectual powers of man, chapter fourth, to which the | 
reader is referred. What I would here observe is, that’ as first 
principles differ from deductions of reasoning in the nature of 
their evidence, and must be tried by a different standard when 
they are called in question, it is of importance to know to which — 
of these two classes a truth which we would examine belongs. 
When they are not-distinguished, men are apt to deman of — 
for every thing they think fit to deny: and when we attempt to 
prove by direct argument, what is really self-evident, the reason- — 
ing will always be inconclusive ; for it will eithertake for grant- — 
ed the thing to be proved, or something not more evident ; and 
so, instead of giving strength tothe conclusion, will rather tempt 
those to doubt of it, who never did so before. 


OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES QF MORALS. 239 


i propose, therefore, in this chapter, to point out some of the 
first principles of morals, without pretending to a complete enu- 
meration. ; o:. 

The principles I am to mention, relate either to virtue in ge- 
neral, or to the different particular branches of virtue, or to the 
comiparison of virtues where they seem to interfere. 

ist, There are some things in human conduct, that merit ap- 
probation and praise, others that merit-blame and punishment ; 
and different degrees either ef approbation or of blame, are due 
to different actions. 

2dly, What is in no degree voluntary, can neither deserve 
moral approbation nor blame. 

3dly, What is done from unavoidable necessity may be agree- 
able or disagreeable, useful or hurtful, but cannot be the object 
either of blame or of moral approbation. 

4thly, Men may be highly culpable in omitting what they ought 
to have done, as well as in doing what they ought not. 

5thly, We ought to use the best means we can to be well in- 
formed of our duty, by serious attention to moral instruction ; 
by observing what we approve, and what we disapprove, in other 
men, whether our acquaintance, or those whose actions are re- 
corded in history ; by reflecting often, in a calm and dispassion- 
ate hour, on our own past conduct, that we may discern what 
was wrong, what was right, and what might have been better; 
by deliberating coolly and impartially upon our future conduct, 
as far as we can foresee the opportunities we may have of doing 
good, or the temptations to do wrong; and by having this prin- 
ciple deeply xed in our minds, that as moral excellence is the 
true worth and glory of a man, so the knowledge of our duty is 
to every man, in every station of life, the most important of all 
knowledge. 

6thly, It ought to be our most serious concern to do our duty 
as faras we know it, and to fortify our minds against every tempt- 
ation to deviate from it; by maintaining a lively sense of the 
beauty of right conduct, and of ‘its present and future reward, of 
the turpitude of vice, and of its bad consequences here and 
hereafter; by having always in our eye the noblest examples : 
by the babit of subjecting our passions to the government of 
reason ; by firm purposes and resolutions with regard to our 
conduct ; by avoiding occasions of temptation when we can: 
and by imploring the aid of him who made us, in every hour of 

‘temptation. 

These principles concerning virtue and vice in general, must 
appear self-evident to every man who has a conscience, and 
who has taken pains to exercise this natural power of his mind. 
I proceed to others that are more particular. 

ist, We ought to prefer a greater good. though more distant. 
to a less: and a less evil to a greater. 


240 ESSAY V. 

_ Aregard to our own good, though we had no conscience, dic- 
tates this principle ; and we cannot help disapproving the man 
that acts contrary to it, as deserving to lose the good which he 
wantonly threw away, aed to suffer the evil which he knowingly 
brought upon his own head. cy iA RG 

We observed before, that the ancient moralists, and many 
among the modern, have deduced the whole of morals from this 
principle, and that when,we make a right estimate of>goods and 
evils according to their degree, their dignity, their duration, and 
according as they are more or less in our power, it leads to the 
practice of every virtue: more directly, indeed, to the virtues 
of self-government, to prudence, to temperance, and to forti- 
tude; and, though more indirectly, even to justice, humanity, 
and all the social virtues, when their influence mponietr happi- 
ness 1s well understood. 

Though it be not the noblest principle of conduet, it has this 
peculiar advantage, that its force is felt by the most 5: pte and 
even by the most abandoned. ‘mi 

- Let a man’s moral judgment be ever so little improved by ex- 
ercise, or ever so much corrupted by bad habits, he cannot be 
indifferent to his own happiness or misery. When he is become 
insensible to every nobler motive to right conduct, he cannot 
be insensible to this. And though to act from this motive sole- 
ly, may be called prudence rather than virtue, yet this prudence 
deserves some regard upon its own account, and much more as 
it is the friend and ally of virtue, and the enemy of all vice ; and 
as it givesa favourable testimony of virtue to those ae are deat 
to every other recommendation. 

If a man can be induced to do his duty even from a esierdde 
his own happiness, he will soon find reason to love virtue for her 
own sake, and to act from motives less mercenary. 

I cannot therefore approve of those moralists, who would 
banish all persuasives to virtue taken from the consideration of 
private good. Jn the present state of human nature these are 
not useless to the best, and they are the only means left a re- 
claiming the abandoned. 

2dly, As far as the intention of nature appears in ve andl 
tution of man, we ought to comply with that rian hace 
act agreeably to it. vf 

The Author of our being has given us not only the power. of 
acting within a limited sphere, but various principles or springs 
of action, of different nature and dignity, to direct us in the ex- 
ercise of our active power. pols tablet 

From the constitution of every species of the inferior animals, 
and especially from the active principles which nature has given 
them, we easily perceive the manner of life for which nature in- 
tended them; and they uniformly act the part to which they 
are led by their constitution, without any reflection upon it, or 


OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 241 


intention of obeyingits dictates. Man only, of the inhabitants 
of this world, is made capable of observing his own constitution, 
what kind of life it is made for, and of acting according to that 
intention, or contrary to it. He only is capable of yielding an 
intentional obedience to the dictates of his nature, or of rebel- 
ling against them. 

In treating of the principles of action in man, it has been 
shown, that as his natural instincts and bodily appetites, are well 
adapted to the preservation of his natural life, and to the con- 
tinuance of the species; so his natural desires, affections, and 
passions, when uncorrupted by vicious habits, and under the 
government of the leading principles of reason and conscience, 
are excellently fitted for the rational and social life. Every vi- 
cious action shows an excess, or defect, or wrong direction of 
some natural spring of action, and therefore may, very justly, 
be said to be unnatural. Every virtuous action agrees with the 
uncorrupted principles of human nature. 

The Stoics defined virtue to be a life according to nature. 
Some of them, more accurately, a life according to the nature of 
man, in so far as it is superior to that of brutes. The life of a 
brute is according to the nature of the brute; but it is neither 
virtuous nor vicious. The life of a moral agent cannot be ac- 
cording to his nature, unless it be virtuous. That conscience, 
which is if every man’s breast is the law of God written in his 
heart, which he cannot disobey without acting unnaturally, and 
being self-condemned. 

The intention of nature, in the various active principles of 
man, in the desires of power, of knowledge, and of esteem, in 
the affection to children, to near relations, and to the communi- 
ties te which we belong, in gratitude, in compassion, and even 
in resentment and emulation, is very obvious, and has been point- 
ed out in treating of those principles. Nor is it less evident, 
thatreason and conscience are given us to regulate the infe- - 
rior principles, so that they may conspire, in a regular and con- 
sistent plan of life, in pursuit of some worthy end. 

3dly, No man is born for himself only. Every man, there- 
fore, ought to consider himself as a member of the common so- 
ciety of mankind, and of those subordinate societies to which 
he belongs, such as family, friends, neighbourhood, country, and 
to do as much good as he can, and as little hurt to the societies 
of which he is a part. She ; 

This axiom leads directly to the practice of every social 
virtue, and indirectly to the virtues of self-government, by which 
only we can be qualified for discharging the duty we owe to 
society. 

4thly, In every case, we ought to act that part toward another 
which we would judge to be right in him to act toward us, if we 


242 ESSAY Y. 


were in his circumstances and he in ours; or, more generally, 
what we approve in others, that we ought to practise in like 
circumstances, and what we condemn in others we ought not to 
do. ate ad fifa: 

If there be any such thing as right and wrong in the conduct 
of moral agents, it must be the same to all in the same’ circum- 
stances. ify ab DearS 

We stand all in the same relation to Him who made ‘us; and 
will ¢all us to account for our conduct: for with him there is no 
respect of persons. We stand in the same relation to one an- 
other as members of the great community of mankind. The 
duties consequent upon the different ranks, and offices, and rela- 
tions of men, are the same to all in the same circumstances. 

Itis not want of judgment, but want of candourand impar- 

tiality, that hinders men from discerning what they owe to 
others. They are quicksighted enough in discerning what is 
due to themselves. When they are injured, or ill treated, they 
see it, and feel resentment. It is the want of candour that makes 
men use one measure for the duty they owe to others, and 
another measure for the duty that others owe tothem in like cir- 
cumstances. That men oughi to judge with candour, as im all 
other cases, so especially in what concerns their moral conduct, 
is surely self-evident to every intelligent being. The man who 
takes offence when he is injured in his person, in his property, in 
his good name, pronounces judgment against himself if he act 
so toward his neighbour. On popnaripe te 
' As the equity and obligation of this rule of conduct is self- 
evident to every man who has a conscience; soit is of all the 
rules of morality, the most comprehensive, and truly deserves 
the encomium given it by the highest authority, that a is the law 
and the prophets. ed kage a 

It comprehends every rule of justice without exception. , It 
comprehends all the relative duties, arising either from the more 
permanent relations of parent and child, of masterand servant, 
of magistrate and subject, of husband and wife ; or from the 
more transient relations of rich and poor, of buyer and seller, 
of debtor and creditor, of benefactor and beneficiary, of friend — 
and enemy. It comprehends every duty of charity and huma- 
nity, and even of courtesy and good manners. pit ee 

Nay, I think, that, without any force or straining, it extends 
even to the duties of self-government. For, as every man ap- 
proves in others the virtues of prudence, temperance, self-com- 
mand, and fortitude, he must perceive, that what is right in 
others must be right in himself in like circumstances. ©) ~ 

To sum up all, he who acts invariably by this rule will never 
deviate from the path of his duty, but from an error of judg- 
ment. And, as he feels the obligation that he and all men are 


OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 245 


ander, to use the best means in his power to have his judgment 
well informed in matters of duty, his errors will only be such 
as are invincible. eye 

It may be observed, that this axiom supposes a faculty in man 
by which he can distinguish right conduct from wrong. It sup- 
poses also, that, by this faculty, we easily perceive the right and 
the wrong in other men that are indifferent to us ; but are very 
apt to be blinded by the partiality of selfish passions when the 
case concerns ourselves. Every claim we have against others 
is apt to be magnified by self-love, when viewed directly. A 
change of persons removes this prejudice, and brings the claim 
to appear in its just magnitude. , 

5thly, To every man who believes the existence, the perfec- 
tions, and the providence of God, the veneration and submission 
we owe to him is self-evident. Right sentiments of the Deity 
and of his works, not only make the duty we owe to him obvi- 
ous to every intelligent being, but likewise add the authority of 
a divine law to every rule of right conduct. 

There is another class of axioms in morals, by which, when 
there seems to be an opposition between the actions that differ- 
ent virtues lead to, we determine to which the preference is due. 

Between the several virtues, as they are dispositions of mind, 
or determinations of will to act according to a certain general 
rule, there can be no opposition. They dwell together most 
amicably, and give mutual aid and ornament, without the pos- 
sibility of hostility or opposition, and, taken altogether, make 
one uniform and consistent rule of conduct. But, between 
particular external actions, which different virtues would lead 
to, there may be an opposition. Thus, the same man may be 
in his heart, generous, grateful, and just. These dispositions 
strengthen, but never can weaken one another. Yet it may 
happen, that an external action which generosity or gratitude 
solicits, justice may forbid. 

That in all such cases, unmerited generosity should yield to 
gratitude, and both to justice, is self-evident. Nor is it less so, 
that unmerited beneficence to those who are at ease should yield 
to compassion to the miserable, and external acts of piety to 
works of mercy, because God loves mercy more than sacrifice. 

At the same time, we perceive, that these acts of virtue which 
ought to yield in the case of a competition, have most intrinsic 
worth when there is no competition. Thus, it is evident that 
there is more worth in pure and unmerited benevolence than in 
compassion, more in compassion than in gratitude, and. more in 
gratitude than in justice. Morerscgr mh 

I call these first principles, because they appear to me to have 
in themselves an intuitive evidence which I cannot resist. .] find 
Tcan express them in other words. I can illustrate them by ex- 
amples and authorities, and perhaps can deduce one of them 


i = 


244 ESSAY V. 


from another ; but 1 am not able to deduce’ them from other 
principles that are more evident. And I find ‘the best moral 
reasonings of authors Iam acquainted with, ancient and mo- 
dern, heathen and christian, to be grounded upon one or more 
of them. o> Seat > 

The evidence of mathematical axioms is not discerned’ till 
men come to a certain degree of maturity of understanding: A 
boy must have fermed the general conception ‘of quantity, and 
' of more, and less, and equal ; of sum, and difference; and he 
must have been accustomed to judge of these relations in 
matters of common life, before he can perceive the evidence 
of the mathematical axiom, that equal quantities, added to equal 
quantities, make equal sums. ’ 

In like manner, our moral judgment, or conscience, grows to 
maturity from an imperceptible seed, planted by our Creator. 
When we are capable of contemplating the actions of other 
men, or of reflecting upon our own calmly and dispassionately, 
we begin to perceive in them the qualities of honest and dis- 
honest, of honourable and base, of right and wrong, and to feel 
the sentiments of moral approbation and disapprobation,» = ~~~ 

These sentiments are at first feeble, easily warped by passions 
and prejudices, and apt to yield to authority. By use and time, 
the judgment, in morals as in other matters, gathers strength, 
and feels more vigour. We begin to distinguish the dictates of” 
passion from those of cool reason, and to perceive, that itis not 
always safe to rely upon the judgment of others.. Byanimpulse” 
of nature, we venture to judge for ourselves, as we venture to’ 
walk by ourselves. tad testes aa 

There isa strong analogy between the progress of ‘the body” 
from infancy to maturity, and the progress of all the powers of 
the mind. This progression in both is the work of nature, and 
in both may be greatly aided or hurt by proper education.” Tt ~ 
is natural toa man to be able to walk, or run, or leap; but if — 
his limbs had been kept in fetters from his birth, he would have” 
none of those powers. It is no less natural toa man trained 
in society, and accustomed to judge of his own’actions, and those” 
of other men, to perceive a right and a wrong, an honourable ~ 
anda base, in human conduct; and to such a man, I think, the 
principles of morals I have above mentioned, will appear self 
evident. Yet there may be individuals of the human species — 
so little accustomed to think or judgé of any thing, but o i 
tifying their animal appetites, as to have hardly any conception” 
of right or wrong in conduct, or any moral judgment ; 
certainly are some whe have not the conceptions and | 
ment necessary to understand the axioms of geometry " 


25 


From the principles above mentioned, the whole system me 
moral conduct follows so easily, and with so little aid ofreasoning, 


that every man of common understanding, who wishes to know’ ~ 


I 


OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS: 245 


his duty, may know it. The path of duty isa plain path, which 
the upright in heart can rarely mistake. Such it must be, since 
every man is bound to walk init. There are some intricate 
cases in morals, which admit of disputation; but these seldom 
occur in practice; and, when they do, the learned disputant 
has no great advantage ; for the unlearned man, who uses the 
best means in his power to know his duty, and acts according to 
_ his -knowledge, is inculpable in the sight of God and man. He 
may err, but he is not guilty of immorality. 


CHAPTER II. 
OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 


IF the knowledge of our duty be so level to the apprehension 
of all men, as has been represented in the last chapter, it may 
seem hardly to deserve the name of a science. It may seem 
that there is no need for instruction in morals. 

From what cause then has it happened, that we have many 
large and learned systems of moral philosophy, and systems of 
natural jurisprudence, or the law of nature and nations ; and 
that, in modern times, public professions have been instituted 
in most places of education for instructing youth in these 
branches of knowledge ? 

This event, I think, may be accounted for, and the utility of 
such systems and professions justified, without supposing any 
difficulty or intricacy in the knowledge of our duty. 

I am far from thinking instruction in morals unnecessary. 
Men may, to the end of life, be ignorant of self-evident truths. 
They may, to the end of life, entertain gross absurdities. Ex- 
perience shows that this happens often in matters that are indif- 
ferent. Much more may it happen in matters where interest, 
passion, prejudice, and fashion, are so apt to pervert the judg- 
ment. 

The most obvious truths are not perceived without some 
_ ripeness of judgment. For we see, that children may be made 
to believe any thing, though ever so absurd. Our judgment of 
things is ripened, not by time only, but chiefly by being exercised 
_ about things of the same, or of a similar kind. 

Judgment, even in things self-evident, requires a clear, distinct, 
and steady conception of the things about which we judge. 
Our conceptions are at first obscure and wavering. The habit 
of attending to them is necessary to make them distinct and 
steady ; and this habit requires an exertion of mind to which 
| many of our animal principles are unfriendly. The love of 

VOL. IIT. 32 


246 ESSAY ¥s 


truth calls tor it; but its still voice is often drowned by the louder 
call of some passion, or we are hindered from listening to it by 
laziness and desultoriness. ‘Thus men often remain through life 
ignorant of things which they needed but to open their eyes to 
see, and which they would hewe seen if —_ attention had been 
turned to them. ri to he eth 
The most knowing derive’ the pechbat part of their knowledge, 
even in things obvious, from instruction and information, and 
from being taught to exercise their notre faceiienyiriian, 
without instruction, would lie dormant. silt 10 Ab to Hag 
fam very apt to think, that, if a man aan be reared from 
infancy, without any society of his fellow-creatures, he would 
hardly ever show any sign, either of moral judgment, or of the 
power of reasoning. His own actions would be directed by his 
animal appetites and passions, without cool reflection, and he 
would have no access to improve, by observing dheqeandnct: of 
other beings like himself. Not bive woime 
The power of vegetation in the seed of a plant, ievithdest eat 
and moisture, would for ever lie dormant. The rational and 
moral powers of man would perhaps lie dormant without in- 
struction and example. Yet these powers area party and the 
noblest part of his constitution ; as the pera vegetation is 


of the seed.” é nee sue 1 
Our first moral conceptions are peli ‘qutabeadteteions 
coolly to the conduct of others, and. obser what moves our 
approbation, what our indignation. | These sentiments spring 
from our moral faculty as naturally as the sensations of sweet 
and bitter from the faculty of taste. They have their natural 
ebjects. But most human actions are of a’ mixed) nature, and 
bave various colours, according as they are viewed on different 
sides. Prejudice against, or in favour of the person; isapt to 
warp our opinion. It requires attention and candour to distin- 
guish the good from the ill, and, without favour or'prejudice, to 
form @ clear and impartial judgment. In this we may be greatly 
aided by instruction. 1 cutee shreds dines 
He must be very ignorant of human abu who does not per-, 
ceive that the seed of virtue in the mind of man, like that/of a 
tender plaut in an unkindly soil, requires ‘care and culture in 
the first period of life, as well as our own exertion when we 
“come to maturity. 7? Saale tee 
Tf the irregularities - passion woe appetite be timely check- 
ed, and good habits planted; if we be excited by good exam- 
ples, and bad examples be shown in their. proper colours, ifthe 
attention be prudently directed to the precepts of wisdom and 
virtue, as‘the mind is capable of receiving them} a man thus 
trained will rarely be at a loss to distinguish good frouvall in bis 
own conduct, without the labour of reasoning. § 1 5) 
‘The bulk of mankind have but little of this culture in the pro- 


OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. QA? 


per season; and what they have is often unskilfully applied ; by 
which means bad habits gather strength, and false notions ef 
pleasure, of honour, and of interest, occupy the mind. They 
give little atteation to what is right and honest. Conscience is 
seldom consulted, and so little exercised, that its decisions are 
weak and wavering. Although, therefore, to a ripe understand- 
ing, free from prejudice, and accustomed to judge of the morali- 
ty of actions, most truths in morals will appear self-evident, it 
does not follow that moral instruction is unnecessary in the first 
part of life, or that it may not be very profitable in its more ad- 
vanced period. 

The histery of past ages shows, that nations, highly civilized, 
and greatly enlightened in many arts and sciences, may for ages, 
not only hold the grossest absurdities with regard to the Deity 
and his worship, but with regard to the duty we owe to our fel- 
low-men, particularly to children, to servants, to strangers, to 
enemies, and to those who differ from us in religious opinions. 

Such corruptions in religion, and in morals, had spread se 
wide among mankind, and were so confirmed by custom, as to 
require a’ light from heaven to correct them. Revelation was 
not intended to supersede, but to aid the use of our natural fa- 
culties ; and, I doubt not, but the attention given to moral truths, 
in such systems as we have mentioned, has contributed much to 
correct the errors and prejudices of former ages, and may con- 
tinue to have the same good effect in time to come. 

It needs not seem strange, that systems of morals may swell to 
great magnitude, if we consider that, although the general prin- 
ciples be few and simple, their application extends to every part 
of human conduct, in every condition, every relation, and every 
transaction of life. They are the rule of life to the magistrate 
and to thesubject, to the master and to the servant, to the parent 
and to the child, to the fellow-citizen and to the alien, to the 
friend and to the enemy, to the buyer and to the seller, to the 
borrower and tothe lender. Every human creature is subject to 
their authority inhis actions and words, and evenin his thoughts. 
‘They may in this respect, be compared to the laws of motion 
in the natural world, which, though few and simple, serve to 
regulate an infinite variety of operations throughout the universe. 

And as the beauty of the laws of motion is displayed in the 
most striking manner, when we trace them through all the variety 
of their effects ; so the divine beauty and sanctity of the princi- 
ples of morals, appear most august, when we take a comprehen- 
Sive view of their application to every condition and relation, 
and to every transaction of human society... 

- This is, or ought to be, the design of systems of morals. 
They may be made more or less extensive, having no limits fixed 
by nature, but the wide circle of human transactions. When 
the principles are applied to these in detail. the detail is plea- 


248 ESSAY ¥. 


sant.and profitable, _ It requires no profound reasoning, except- 
ing, perhaps, in a few disputable points... It admits of the most 
agreeable illustration from examples and authorities; it serves 
to exercise, and thereby to strengthen moral judgment. And 
one who has given much attention to the duty of man, in all the 
various relations and circumstances of life, will probably. be 
more enlightened in his own duty, and more able to enlighten 
others. , +01) evoreiqier Bart 
The first writers in morals, we are acquainted with, delivered 
their moral instructions, not in systems, but in shortunconnected 
sentences, or aphorisms. They saw no need for deductions of 
reasoning, because the truths they delivered could not but be ad- 
mitted by the candid and attentive. _ oe hd And oor 5 
Subsequent writers, to improve the way of treating this sub- 
ject, gave method and arrangement to moral truths, by reducing 
them under certain divisions and subdivisions, as parts of one 
whole. By this means the whole is more easily comprehended 
and remembered, and from this arrangement gets the name of a 
system and of a science. 1 weoiigeghotes again eae 
A system of morals is not like a system of geometry, where 
the subsequent parts derive their evidence from the preceding, 
and one chain of reasoning is carried on from the beginning ; 
so that, if the arrangement is changed, the chain is broken, and 
the evidence is lost. It resembles more a system of botany, or 
mineralogy, where the subsequent parts depend not for their,evi- 
dence upon the preceding, and the arrangement is made to faci- 
litate apprehension and memory, and not to give evidence. 
Morals have been methodized in different ways. The ancients 
commonly arranged them under the four cardinal virtues of pru- 
dence, temperance, fortitude, and justice. Christian writers, I 
think, more properly, under the three heads of the duty we owe 
to God, to ourselves, and.to our neighbour. One division may 
be more comprehensive, or more natural, than another; but 
the truths arranged are the same, and their evidence the same 
in all. wet? 
I shall only further observe, with regard to systems of»morals, 
that they have been made more voluminous, and more intricate, 
partly by mixing political questions with morals, which J think 
improper, because they beiong to a_ different science, and are 
grounded on different principles ; partly by making what is com- 
monly, but I think improperly, called the Theory of Morals, a 
_part of the system. 02, aia 
By the theory of morals is meant, a just account of the struc- 
ture of our moral powers; that is, of those powers of the mind 
by which we have our moral conceptions, and distinguish right 
from wrong in humanactions. This, indeed, is an intricate sub- 
ject, and there have been various theories, and much controversy 
about it. in ancient and in modern times.. .But it has little con- 


t 


OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 249 


nexion with the knowledge of our duty ; and those who differ 
mostin the theory of our moral powers, agree in the practical 
rules of morals which they dictate. 

Asa man may be a good judge of colours, and of the other 
visible qualities of objects, without any knowledge of the anato- 
my of the eye, and of the theory of vision ; so a man may have 
a very clear and comprehensive knowledge of what is right and 
what is wrong in human conduct, who never studied the structure 
of our moral powers. 

A good ear in music may be much improved by attention and 
practice in that art; but very little by studying the anatomy of 
the ear,and the theory of sound. In order to acquire a good 
eye or a good ear in the arts that require them, the theory of 
vision and the theory of sound, are by no means necessary, and 
indeed of very little use. Of as little necessity or use is what 
we call the theory of morals, in order to improve our moral 
judgment. ‘ ‘ 

I mean not to depreciate this branch of knowledge. Itis a 
very important part of the philosophy of the human mind, and 
ought to be considered as such, but not as any part of morals. 
By the name we give to it, and by the custom of making it a part 
of every system of morals, men may be led into this gross mistake, 
which I wish to obviate, that in order to understand his duty, a 
man must needs be a philosopher and a metapbysician. 


CHAPTER Iii. 


OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 


SYSTEMS of natural jurisprudence, of the rights of peace 
and war, or of the law of nature and nations, are a modern 
invention, which soon acquired such reputation, as gave occasion 
to many public establishments for teaching it along with the 
other sciences. It has so close a relation to morals, that it may 
answer the purpose of a system of morals, andis commonly put 
in the place of it, as far, at least, as concerns our duty to our 
fellow-men. They differ in the name and form, but agree in 
substance. This will appear froma slight attention to the nature 
of both. . 

The direct intention of morals is to teach the duty of men: 
that of natural jurisprudence, to teach the rights of men. Right 
and duty are things very different, and have evena kind of 
opposition ; yet they are so related, that the one cannot even 
be conceived without the other; and he that understands the 
one must understand the other. 


950 ESSAY ¥. 


“They have the same relation which credit has to debt. As alt 
credit supposes an equivalent debt ; so all right supposes @ 
corresponding duty. There can be no~ t in one party 
without an equivalent debt in another party ; and there can be 
no right in one party, without a corresponding duty in another 
party. The sum of credit shows the sum of debt; and the ‘sune 
of men’s rights shows, in like manner, the sum of their duty to 
one another. ‘net hee Opti. 

The word right has a very different meaning, according as it 
is applied to actions or to persons. A right action is an action 
agreeable to our duty. But when we speak of the rights of men, 
the word has a very different and a more artificial meaning. 
It is a term of art in law, and signifies all that a man may law- 
fully do, all that he may lawfully possess and ‘use, and all’that 
he may lawfully claim of any other person. “9° 

This comprehensive meaning of the word right,and of the 
Latin word jus, which corresponds to it, though long adopted 
into common language, is too artificial to be the birth of com- 
mon language. It isa term of art, contrived by Civilians when 
the civil law became a profession. © 19 20S eB RII 08 

The whole end and object of law is to protect the subjects in 
all that they may lawfully do, or possess, or demand.” ‘This 
threefold object of law, Civilians have comprehended under the 
word jus, or right, which they define, Facultas aliquid agendi, vel 
possidendi, vel ab alio consequendi: A lawful claim to 6 any thing, 
to possess any thing, orto demand some prestation fromsome other 
person. The first of these may be called the right of Liberty, 
the second that of property, which is also called a real right, the 
third is called personal right, because it respects some particu- 
lar person or persons of whom the prestation may be demanded. 

We can be at no loss to perceive the duties corresponding to 
the several kinds of rights. What I havea right to do, itis the 
duty of all men not to hinder me from doing. What is my pro- 
perty or real right, no man ought to take from me; orto molest 
me in the use and enjoyment of it. And what [havea right'to — 
demand of any man, it is his duty to perform. Between the 
right, on the one hand, and the duty on the other, there is not 
only a necessary connexion, but, in reality, they are only differ- 
ent expressions of the same meaning ; just as it is the sa ing | 
to say, | am your debtor, and to say, you are my creditor; or, 
as itis the same thing to say, 1 am your father, and to say, you 
are my son. 1D 10 oa hs 

Thus we see, that there is such a'correspondence between the 
rights of men and the duties of men, that the one points 
other ; and a system of the one may be substituted for a System 
of the other. | + ah COGN TAN 

But here an objection occurs. It may be said, pment | 
every right implies a duty, yet every duty does not imply a right. 


- 


. 


Oy SYSTEMS OF NATUBAL JUBISPBUDENCE, 251 


Thus, it may be my duty to doa humane or kind office to aman 
who has no claim of right to it; and therefore a system of the 
rights of men, though it teach all the duties of strict justice, yet 
it leaves out all the duties of charity and humanity, without 
which the system of morals must be very lame. 

_ In answer to this objection, it may be observed, that, as there 
is a strict notion of justice, in which it is distinguished from hu- 
manity and charity, so there is a more extensive signification of 
it, in which it includes those virtues. The ancient moralists, 
both Greek and Roman, under the cardinal virtue of justice, in- 
cluded beneficence ; and, in this extensive sense, it is often used 
in common language. The like may be said of right, which, in 
a sense not uncommon, is extended to every proper claim of 
humanity and charity, as well as to the claims of strict justice. 
But, as it is proper to distinguish these two kinds of claims by 
different names, writers in natural jurisprudence have given the 
name of perfect rights to the claims of strict justice, and that of 
imperfect rights to the claims of charity and humanity. Thus, 
all the duties of humanity have imperfect rights corresponding 
to them, as those of strict justice have perfect rights. 

‘Another objection may be, that there is still a class of duties 
to which no right, perfect or imperfect, corresponds. 

Weare bound in duty to pay due respect, not only to whatis 
truly the right of another, but to what, through ignorance or 
mistake, we believe to be his right. ‘Thus, if my neighbour is 
possessed of a horse which he stole, and to which he has no 
right; while I believe the horse to be really his, and am igno- 
rant of the theft, it is my duty to pay the same respect to this 
conceived right as if it were real. Here, then, is a moral obli- 
gation on one party, without any corresponding right on the 
other. 

To supply this defect in the system of rights, so as to make 
yight and duty correspond in every instance, writers in jurispru- 
dence have had recourse to something like what is called a fic- 
tion of law. They give the name of right to the claim which 
even the thief has to the goods he has stolen, while the theft is 
unknown, and to all similar claims grounded on the ignorance or 
mistake of the parties concerned. And to distinguish this kind 
of right from genuine rights, perfect or imperfect, they call it 
an external right. 

Thus it appears, that although a system of the perfect rights 
of men, or the rights of strict justice, would be a lame substi- 
tute for a system of human duty; yet when we add toit the im- 
perfect and the external rights, it comprehends the whole duty 
we owe to our fellow-men. 

But it may be asked, why should mea be taught their duty in 
this indirect way, by reflection, as it were, from the rights of 
other men £ 


252 ESSAY Y. aT) 


Perhaps it may be thought, that this indirectway may be more 
agreeable to the pride of man, as we see that men of rank like 
better to hear of obligations of honour than of obligations of 
duty, although the dictates of true honour and of duty be the 
same; for this reason, that honour puts a man in mind of what 
he owes to himself, whereas duty is a more humiliating idea. 
For a like reason, men may attend more willingly to their rights, 
which put them in mind of their dignity, than to their duties, — 
which suggest their dependence. And we see that men may 
give great attention to their rights who give but little to their 
duty. ie bed eh 11) aga 

Whatever truth there may be in this, I believe better reasons 
can be given why systems of natural jurisprudence have been 
contrived and put in the place of systems of morals... 

Systems of civil law were invented many ages before we had 
any system of natural jurisprudence; and the former seem to 
have suggested the idea of the latter. ) a) ‘tke obrae 

Such is the weakness of human understanding, that no large 
body of knowledge can be easily apprehended and remembered, 
unless it be arranged and methodized, that is, reduced intoa sys- 
tem. When the laws of the Roman people were multiplied to a 
great degree, and the study of them became an honourable and 
lucrative profession, it became necessary that they should be ~ 
methodized into a system. And the most natural and obvious 
way of methodizing law was found to be according to the divi- 
sions and subdivisions of men’s rights, which it is the intention 
of law to protect. > cdeidion adil 

The study of law produced not only systems of law, but a 
language proper for expressing them. Every art has its terms 
of art, for expressing the conceptions that belong to it; and the 
Civilian must have terms for expressing accurately the divisions 
and subdivisions of rights, and the various ways whereby they 
may be acquired, transferred, or extinguished, in the various 
transactions of civil society. He must have terms accurately 
defined, for the various crimes by which. men’s rights are vio~ 
lated, not to speak of the terms which express the different 
forms of actions at law, and the various steps of the procedure 
of judicatories. . | verdant 

Those who have been bred to any profession, are very prone 
to use the terms of their profession, in speaking or writing on 
subjects that have any analogy to it. And they may do so with 
advantage, as terms of art are commonly more precise in their 
signification, and better defined, than the words of common: 
language. To such persons it is also, very natural to model 
and arrange other subjects, as far as their nature admits, into a 
method similar to that of the system. which fills their minds. 

It might, therefore, be expected, that a Ciyilian, intending, 
to give a detailed system of morals, would use many of the 


sow 


OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 253 


terms of civil law, and mould it, as far as it can be done, inte 
the form of a system of law, or of the rights of mankind. 

The necessary and close relation of right to duty, which we 
before observed, justified this: and moral duty had long been 
considered as a law of nature; a law, not wrote on tables of 
stone or brass, but on the heart of man; a law of greater 
antiquity and higher authority than the laws of particular 
states ; a law which is binding upon all men of all nations, and 
therefore is called by Cicero the law of nature, and of nations. 

The idea of a system of this law was worthy of the ge- 
nius of the immortal Hugo Grotius, and he was the first who 
executed it in such a manner, as to draw the attention of 
the learned in all the European nations; and to give occa- 
sion to several princes and states to establish public profes- 
sions for the teaching of this law. | 

The multitude of commentators and annotators upon this 
work of Grotius, and the public establishments to which it gave 
occasion, are sufficient vouchers of its merit. 

It is, indeed, a work so well designed, and so skilfully executed ; 
so free from the scholastic jargon which infected the learned at 
that time, so much addressed to the common sense and moral 
judgment of mankind, and so agreeably illustrated by examples 
from ancient history, and authorities from the sentiments of an- 
cient authors, heathen and christian, that it must always be 
esteemed as the capital work of a great genius upona most im- 
portant subject. 

The utility of a just system of natural jurisprudence appears, 
Ist, As it is asystem of the moral duty we owe to men, which, 
by the aid they have taken from the terms and divisions of the 
civil law, has been given more in detail and more systematically 
by writers in natural jurisprudence than it was formerly. 2dly, 
As it is the best preparation for the study of law, being as it 
were, cast in the mould, and using and explaining many of the 
terms of the civil law, on which the law of most of the European 
nations is grounded. 3dly, It is of use to lawgivers, who ought 
to make their laws as agreeable as possible to the laws of na- 
ture. And as laws made by men, like all human works, must be 
imperfect, it points out the errors and imperfections of human 
laws. 4thly, ‘To judges and interpreters of the law it is of use, 
because that interpretation ought to be preferred which is found- 
ed in the law of nature. Sthly, It is of use in civil controver- 
sies between states, or between individuals who have no com- 
mon superior. In such controversies the appeal must be made 
to the law of nature ; and the standard systems of it, particu- 
larly that of Grotius, have great authority. And, 6thly, to say no 
more upon this point, itis of great use to sovereigns and states 
who are above all human laws, to be solemnly admonished of 
the conduct they are bound to observe to their own subjects, to 

VOL. Ml. 33 


254 ESSAY ye 


the subjects of other states, and to one anothers Ap pe: Pace 
war. The better and the more generally the law,of na 
understood, the greater dishonour, in Pt blic - mation 
low every violation of it. ee | 
Some authors have imagined, that systems of tural jurispru- 
dence ought to be confined to the perfect rights of men, be beca 
the duties which correspond to the imperfect rights, the duties 
charity and humanity, cannot be enforced by human laws, bu 
must be left to the judgment and. conscience ree 
from compulsion. But the systems which hay the g 


est applause of the public, have not followed nite 


conceive for good reasons. ist, Because as Haye 
rights could by no means serve the purpose ol 
rals, which surely is an important purpose. 2dl Beca' 
many Cases, it is hardly possible to fix the Sali “ - 
justice and humanity, between perfect and imperfect right. Like 
the colours in a prismatic image, they run into _each of sO 
that the best eye cannot fix the precise boundary betwe: n. 
3dly, As wise legislators and magistrates ought to haye itas their 
end to make the citizens good, as well as just, we find in all civi- 
lized nations, laws that are intended to encourage dutic 
humanity. Where human laws cannot enforce them 
ments, they may encourage them by rewards. Of this 
legislators have given examples; and how far this | 
legislation may be carried, no mancan foresee. 
The substance of the feat following chapters. was 2 
ago, and read in a literary society, with a view to justify son 
points of morals from metaphysical objections. ee eat 
them in the writings of David Hume, Esq. If t nero 
that end, and, at the same time, serve to illustrate Attn 
I have given of our moral powers, it is hoped tht he 
will not think them improperly placed here ; and ieee 
forgive some repetitions, and perhaps anachronisms, occasion 
by their being wrote at different times, and on different occasions. 
img is oom 
He O98 pee yet 
pret l_evicormte od 
“Uotvstss ene 
CHAPTER IV. o> beter Jota) eel 
; igeiéet she 
WHETHER AN ACTION DESERVING MORAL APPROBATION, MUST 
BE ae WITH THE BELIEF OF ITS BEING MORALLY GOOD. 
Mont SOWest 


THERE is no part of philosophy more. subtile 
iat that which is called the Theory of Morals. Nor e 
any more plain and level to the. sipenectlgsialh of man than the 
practical part of morals. - Meotedorinas 

In the former, the Epicurean, the Peripatetic, and the Stoic, 


a 


OBJECT OF MORAL, APPROBATION. 255 


had each his different system of old; and almost every modern 
author of reputation has a system of his own. At the same 
~ time, there is no branch of human knowledge in which there is 
so general an agreement among ancients and moderns, learned 
abel unlearned, asin the practical rules of morals. 
~ From this discord in the theory, and harmony in the practical 
part, we may judge, that the rules of morality stand upon an- 
other and a firmer foundation than the theory. And of this it is 
easy to perceive the reason. 

For in order to know what is right and what is wrong in hu- 
man conduct, we need only listen to the dictates of our con- 
science, when the mind is calm and unruffled, or attend to the 
judgment we form of others inlike circumstances. But, to judge 
of the various theories of morals, we must be able to analyze and 
dissect, as it were, the active powers of the human mind, and es- 
pecially to analyze accurately that conscience or moral power, 
by which we discern right from wrong. 

The conscience may be compared to the eye in this as in many 
other respects. The learned and the unlearned see objects with 
equal distinctness. The former have no title to dictate to the 
latter, as far as the eye is judge, nor is there any disagreement 
about such matters. But, to dissect the eye, ‘and to explain the 
theory of vision, is a difficult point, wherein the most skilful 
have differed. 

From this remarkable disparity between our decisions in the 
theory of morals and in the rules of morality, we may, I think, 
draw this conclusion, that wherever we find any disagreement 
between the practical rules of morality, which have been re- 
ceived in all ages, and the principles of any of the theories ad- 
vanced upon this subject, the practical rules ought to be the 
standard by which the theory is to be corrected; and that it is 
both unsafe and unphilosophical to warp the practical rules, in 
order to make them tally with a favourite theory. 

The question to be considered in this chapter belongs to the 
practical part of morals; and therefore is capable of a more easy 
and more certain determination. And, if it be determined in 
the affirmative, I conceive that it may serve as a touchstone to try 
some celebrated theories which are inconsistent with that deter- 
mination, and which have led the theorists to oppose it by very 
subtile metaphysical arguments. 

- Every question about what is or is not the proper object of 
moral approbation, belongs to practical morals, and such is the 
question now under consideration : Whether actions deserving 
moral approbation must be done with the belief of their being 
morally good ? Or, Whether an action, done without any regard 
to duty or to the dictates of conscience, can be entitled to moral 

approbation ? are 
"In every action of a moral agent, his conscience is either alto- 


256 ESSAY Y. 


gether silent, or it pronounces the action to be good, or bad, or 
indifferent. ‘This, I think, is a complete enumeration. If it be 
perfectly silent, the action must: be very trifling, or appear so. 
For conscience, in those who have exercised it, isa very prag- 
matical faculty, and meddles with every part of our conduct, 
whether we desire its counsel or not. And what a man does in 
perfect simplicity, without the least suspicion.of its being bad, 
his heart cannot condemn him for, nor will he that knows the 
heart condemn him. If there was any previous culpable negli- 
gence or inattention which led him to a wrong judgment, or hin- 
dered his forming a right one, that I do not exeulpate. I only 
consider the action done, and the disposition with which it was 
done, without its previous circumstances. And in this there ap- 
pears nothing that merits disapprobation. As little can it merit 
any degree of moral approbation, because there was neither good 
nor ill intended. And the same may be said when conscience 
pronounces the action to be indifferent. AS aside erp 
If, in the second place, 1 do what my conscience pronounces 
to be bad, or dubious, | am guilty to myself, and justly deserve 
the disapprobation of others. Nor am I less guilty in this case, 
though what | judged to be bad, should happen to be good or in- 
different. I did it believing it to be bad, and this is an meena 
rality. 
Ft If 1 do what my conscience pronounces to hei sisshs snl 
my duty, either I have some regard to duty, or | have none. 
The last is not supposable ; for | believe there is no man so 
abandoned, but that he does what he believes to be his duty, with 
more assurance and alacrity upon that account. ‘The more 
weight the rectitude of the action has in determining me fo doit, 
the more I approve of my ownconduct. And if my worldly in- 
terest, my appetites, or inclinations, draw me strongly the con- 
trary way, my following the dictates of my conscience, im oppo 
sition to these motives, adds to the moral worth of the action. 
When a man acts from an erroneous judgment, if his error be 
invincible, all agree that he is inculpable : butif bis error be ow- 
ing to some previous negligence or inattention, there seems to be 
some difference among moralists. ‘This difference, however, is 
only seeming, and not real. For wherein lies the fault in this 
case? It must be granted by all, that the fault lies in this, and 
solely in this, that he was not at due pains to have his judgment. 
well informed. Those moralists, therefore, who-consider t: 
tion and the previous conduct that led to it as one whole ; find 
something to blame in the whole ; and they do so most jain 
But those who take this whole to pieces, and consider what is 
blameable and what is right in each part, find all thatis blame- 
able in what preceded this wrong judgment, and: nothing but what 
is approveable in what followed it. e teal: 
Let us suppose, for instance, that aman believes that God rat 


OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 257 


indispensably required him to observe a very rigorous fast in 
Lent ; and that, from a regard to this supposed Divine command, 
he fasts in such manner as is not only a great mortification to his 
appetite, but even hurtful to his health. 

His superstitious opinion may be the effect of a culpable neg- 
ligence, for which he can by no means be justified. Let him, 
therefore, bear all the blame upon this account that he deserves. 
But now, having this opinion fixed in his mind, shal! he act ac- 
cording to it or against it ? Surely we cannot hesitate a moment 
in thiscase. It is evident, that in following the light of his judg- 
ment, heacts the part of a good and pious man, whereas in act- 
ing contrary to his judgment, he woald be guilty of wilful diso- 
bedience to his Maker. . 

If my servant, by, mistaking my orders, does the contrary o 

what I commanded, believing, at the same time, that he obeys 
my orders, there may be some fault in his mistake, but to charge 
him with the crime of disobedience, would be inhuman and un- 
just. 
F These determinations appear to me to have intuitive evidence, 
no less than that of mathematical axioms. A man who is come 
to years of understanding, and who has exercised his faculties in 
judging of right and wrong, sees their truth as he sees daylight. 
Metaphysical arguments brought against them have the same ef- 
fect as when brought against the evidence of sense: they may 
puzzle and confound, but they do not convince. It appears 
evident, therefore, that those actions only can truly be called 
virtuous, or deserving of moral approbation, which the agent 
believed to be right, and to which he was influenced, more or 
less, by that belief. 

If it should be objected, that this principle makes it to be of 
no consequence to a man’s morals, what his opinions may be, 
providing he acts agreeably to them, the answer is easy. 

Morality requires, not only that a man should act according to 
his judgment, but that he should use the best means in his power 
that his judgment be according to truth. If he fail in either of 
these points, he is worthy of blame ; but, if he fail in neither, I 
see not wherein he can be blamed. 

When a man must act, and has no longer time to deliberate, 
he ought to act according to the light of his conscience, even 
when he is in an error. But, when he has time to deliberate, he 
ought surely to use all the means in his power to be rightly in- 
formed. When he has done so, he may still be in anerror ; but 
it 2 an invincibie error, and cannot justly be imputed to him as 
a fault. 

A second objection is, that we immediately approve of bene- 
volence, gratitude, and other primary virtues, without inquiring 
whether they are practised from a persuasion that they are our 
duty. And the laws of God place the sum of virtue in loving 


258 ESSAY Y. 


God and our neighbour, without any provision that we doit from 
a persuasion that we ought to do so. 9 Pideiisai. 
~The answer to this objection is, that the love of God, the 
love of our neighbour, justice, gratitude, and other primary 
virtues, are, by the constitution of human nature, née essarily 
accompanied with a conviction of their being morally good. We 
may therefore safely presume, that these things are never dis- 
joined, and that every man who practises these virtues does it 
with a good conscience. In judging of men’s conduct, we do 
not suppose things which cannot happen, nor do the laws of God 
give decisions upon impossible cases, as they must have done, if 
they supposed the case of a man who thought it contrary to his 
duty to love God or to love mankind. rf fo Pe Teed 
But if we wish to know how the laws of God determine the 
point in question, we ought to observe their decision with regard 
to such actions as may appear good to one man and ill to another. 
And here the decisions of scripture are clear: Let every man be 
persuaded in his own mind. He that doubteth is condemned if he 
eat, because he eateth not of faith ; for whatsoever is not of faith 
ts sin. To him that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, it is un- 
clean. The scripture often places the sum of virtue in living in 
all good conscience, in acting so that our hearts condemn us not. 
The last objection J shall mention is a metaphysical one urged — 
by Mr. Hume. , Peiea isi Dias oa 
It isa favourite point in his system of morals, that justice is not 
a natural but an artificial virtue. To prove this, he has ex- 
erted the whole’strength of his reason and eloquence. And as 
the principle we are considering stood in his way, he takes pains 
to refute it. . FPR Ap 
“ Suppose,” says he, “a person to have lent me a sum of mo- 
ney, on condition that it be restored in a few days. After the 
expiration of the term he demands the sum. I ask, what reason 
or motive have I to restore the money ? It will perhaps be said, 
that my regard to justice, and abhorrence of villany and kna- 
very, are suflicient reasons for me.” And this, he acknowledges, 
would be asatisfactory answer to a man ina civilized state, and’ 
when trained up according to a certain discipline and education. 
“¢ But in his rude and more natural condition,” says he, “if you 
are pleased to call such a condition natural, this aneiee woul 
be rejected as perfectly unintelligible and sophistical.? = 
“For wherein consists this honesty and justice? Not surély 
in the external action. It must therefore consist in the motive 
from which the external action is derived. This motive can ne- 
ver be a regard to the honesty of the action. For it isa plain 
fallacy to say, that a virtuous motive is requisite to render an 
action honest, and, at the same time, that a regard to the honesty 
is the motive to the action. We can never have a regard to the’ 
virtue of an action, unless the action be antecedently virtuous.” 


OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 259 
.. And, in another place, “to suppose that the mere regard to 
the virtue of the action is that which rendered it virtuous, is to 
reason in a circle. An action must be virtuous, before we can 
have a regard to its virtue. Some virtuous motive, therefore, 
must be antecedent to that regard. Nor is this merely a meta- 
physical subtilty,”” &c. Treatise of Hum. Nature, book 3. 
part 2. sect. 1. 

Iam not to consider at this time, how this reasoning is applied 

to support the author’s opinion, that justice is not a natural, but 
an artificial virtue. I consider it only as far as it opposes the 
principle I have been endeavouring to establish, that, to render 
an action truly virtuous, the agent must have some regard to its 
rectitude. And I conceive the whole force of the reasoning 
amounts to this: 
_ When we judge an action to be good or bad, it must have been 
so in its own nature antecedent to that judgment, otherwise the 
judgment is erroneous. If, therefore, the action be good in iis 
nature, the judgment of the agent cannot make it bad, nor can 
his judgment make it good, if, in its nature, it be bad. For this 
would be to ascribe to our judgment a strange magical power to 
transform the nature of things, and to say, that my judging a 
thing to be what it is not, makes it really to be what I erroneously 
judge itto be. This, I think, isthe objection in its full strength. 
And, in answer to it, 

Ist, If we could not lose this metaphysical knot, I think we 
raight fairly and honestly cut it, because it fixes an absurdity upon 
the clearest and most indisputable principles of morals and of 
common sense. For! appeal to any man whether there be any 
principle of morality, or any principle of common sense, more 
clearand indisputable than that which we just now quoted from 
the Apostle Paul, that although a thing be not unclean in itself, 
yet to him that esteemeth it to be unclean, to him it is unclean. 

But the metaphysical argument makes this absurd. For, says 
the metaphysician, if the thing was not unclean in itself, you 
judged wrong in esteeming it to be unclean; and what can be 
more absurd, than that your esteeming a thing to be what it is 
not, should make it what you erroneously esteem it to be? 

Let us try the edge of this argument in another instance. No- 
thing is more evident, than that an action does not merit the 
name of benenolent, unless it be done from a belief that it 
tends to promote the good of our neigbour. But this is absurd, 
says the metaphysician. For, if itbe not a benevolent action in 
itself, your belief of its tendency cannot change its nature. It 
is absurd, that your erroneous belief should make the action to 
be what you believe itto be. Nothing is more evident, than that 
aman who tells the truth, believing it to be a_ lie, is guilty of 
falsehood ; but the metaphysician would make this to be absurd. 

In a word, if there be apy strength in this argument.it would 


260 ESSAY Ve 


follow, that a man might be in the highest degree virtuous, 
without the least regard to virtue; that he might be very 
benevolent, without ever intending to do.a good office ; very 
malicious, without ever intending any hurt; very revengeful, 
without ever intending to retaliate an. injury ; al, 
without ever intending to return a benefit: fe a 
veracity, with an intention to lie. We might, rife ae oa 
this reasoning, as repugnant to self-evident. truth 
we were not able to point out the fallacy Obits: yarn yaad 
Qdly, But let us try, in the second place, whether the fallacy 
of this argument may not be discovered. ss ef dete oR 
We ascribe moral goodness to actions considered abstractly, 
without any relation to the agent. We likewise ascribe moral 
goodness to an agent on account of an action he has done ; we 
call it a good action, though, in this. case, the goodness is properly 
in the man, and is only by a figure ascribed to the action. 
Now, itis to be considered, whether moral goodness, when ap- 
plied to an action considered abstractly, has the same 
as when we apply it toa manon account of that action; or 
whether we do not unawares change the meaning of the word, 
according as we apply it to the one orto the other. . | 9») Suit 
The action, considered abstractly, has neither und 
nor will; it is not accountable, nor can it be under any moral 
obligatio n. But all these things are essential to that moral 
goodness which belongs to a man; for, if a man had not under- 
standing and will, he could have no moral goodness. Hence it 
follows necessarily, that the moral goodness which we ascribe 
to an action considered abstractly, and that which we ascribe to 
a person for doing that action, are not the same. . The meaning 
of the word is changed when it is applied to these different 
subjects. ) Det stytiabs 
This will be more evident, when we consider what is meant. 
by the moral goodness which we ascribe toa man for doing an’ 
action, and what by the goodness which belongs to the action 
considered abstractly. A good action in a man is that in which’ 
he applied his intellectual powers properly, in order to judge’ 
what he ought to do, and acted according to his best judgment. 
This is all that can be required of a moral agent ; and in this)his 
moral goodness, in any good action, consists... But is this the 
goodness which we ascribe to an action considered abstractly? 
No, surely. For the action, considered abstractly, is neither 
endowed with judgment nor with active power; and, therefore, 
can haye none of that goodness which we ascribe to'the man for. 
doing it... i+ bonkaiga a me | 
But what do we mean by goodness 1 in an action consi 
stractly? To me it appears to lie in this, and in this only, that it i is 
an action which ought to be done by those who hayethe power and 
opportunity, and the capacity of perceiving their obligation todo” 


OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 261 


it. Iwould gladly know of any man, what other moral goodness 
can be in an action considered abstractly. And this goodness is 
inherent in its nature, and inseparable from it. No opinion or 
‘udgment of an agent can in the least alter its nature. 

Suppose the action to be that of relieving an innocent person 
out of great distress, This surely has the moral goodness that 
an action considered abstractly can have. Yet itis evident, that 
an agent, in relieving a person in distress, may have no moral 
goodness, may have great merit, or may have great demerit. 

Supposé, Ist, that mice cut the cords which bound the dis- 
tressed person, and so bring him relief. Is there moral goodness 
in this act of the mice ? 

Suppose, 2dly, thata man maliciously relieves the distressed 
person, in order to plunge him into greater distress. In this ac- 
tion there is surely no moral goodness, but much malice and in- 
humanity. 

If, in the /ast place, we suppose a person, from real sympathy 
and humanity, to bring relief to the distressed person, with con- 
siderable expense or danger to himself; here is an action of real 
worth, which every heart approves, and every tongue praises. 
But wherein lies the worth? Notin the action considered by 
itself, which was common to all the three, but in the man who, 
on this occasion, acted the part which became agood man. He 
did what his heart approved, and therefore he is approved by 
God and man. P 

Upon the whole, if we distinguish between that goodness which 
may be ascribed to an action considered by itself, and that good- 
ness which we ascribe to a man when he puts it in execution, we 
shall find a key to this metaphysical lock. We admit, that the 
goodness of an action, considered abstractly, can have no de- 
pendence upon the opinion or belief of an agent, any more than 
the truth of a proposition depends upon our believing it to be 
true. But, when a man exerts his active power well or ill, there 
is a moral goodness or turpitude, which we figuratively impute to 
the action, but which is truly and properly imputable to the man 
only; and this goodness or turpitude depends very much upon 
the intention of the agent, and the opinion he had of his action. 

This distinction has been understood in all ages by those who 
gave any attention to morals, though it has been variously ex- 
pressed. The Greek moralists gave the name of xa9yx to an 
action good in itself; such an action might be done by the most 
worthless. But an action done witha right intention, which im- 
plies real worth in the agent, they called xer'se9au2. The distinc- 
tion is explained by Cicero in his offices. He calls the first offi- 
erum medium, and the second officium perfectum, or rectum. In 
the scholastic ages, an action good in itself was said to be maite- 
rially good, and an action done witha right intention was called 


formally good. This last way of expressing the distinction is 
‘84 


VOL. WI. 


262 ESSAY V. 


still familiar among theologians: but Mr. Hume seems not to 
have attended to it, or to have thought it to be words without any 
meaning. 

Mr. Hume, in the section already quoted, tells us with great 
assurance, ‘‘In short, it may be established as un undoubted 
maxim, that no action can be virtuous or morally good, unless 
there be in human nature some motive to produce it distinct 
from the sense of its morality.” And upon this maxim he founds 
many of his reasonings on the subject of morals. 

Whether it be consistent with Mr. Hume’s own system, that 
an action may be produced merely from the sense of its morality, 
without any motive of agreeableness or utility, I shall not now 
inquire. But, if itbe true, and I think it evident to every man 
of common understanding, thata judge or an arbiter acts the 
most virtuous part when his sentence is produced by no other 
motive but a regard to justice and a good conscience; nay, 
when all other motives distinct from this are on the other side : 
if this, I say, be true, then that undoubted maxim of Mr. Hume 
must be false, and all the conclusions built upon it must fall to 
the ground. 

From the principle I have endeavoured to establish, I think 
some consequences may be drawn with regard to the theory of 
morals. , am 

First, If there be no virtue without the belief that what we 
do is right, it follows, that a moral faculty, that is, a power of 
discerning moral goodness and turpitude in human conduct, is 
essential to every being capable of virtue or vice. A being who 
has no more conception of moral goodness and baseness, of 
right and wrong, than a blind man has of colours, can have no 
regard to it in his conduct, and therefore can neither be virtu- 
us nor Vicious. ° 

He may have qualities that are agreeable or disagreeable, 
useful or hurtful ; so may a plant or a machine. And we some- 
times use the word virtue in such a latitude, as to signify any 
agreeable or useful quality, as when we speak of the virtues of 
plants. But we are now speaking of virtue in the strict and 
proper sense, as it signifies that quality in a man which is the 
object of moral approbation. 

This virtue a man could not have, if he had not a power of 
discerning a right and a wrong in human conduct, and of being 
influenced by that discernment. For in so far only he is virtu- 
ous as he is guided in his conduct by that part of his constitution. 
Brutes do not appear to have any such power, and therefore are 
not moral or accountable agents. ‘They are capable of culture 
and discipline, but not of virtuous or criminal conduct. Even 
human creatures, in infancy and nonage, are not moral agents, 
because their moral faculty is not yet unfolded. These senti- 
ments are supported by the common sense of mankind, which 


OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 263 


has always determined, that neither brutes nor infants can be- 
indicted for crimes. 

It is of small consequence what name we give to this moral 
power of the human mind ; but it is so important a part of our 
constitution, as to deserve an appropriated name. The name 
of conscience, as it is the most common, seems to me as proper 
as any that has been givenit. I find no fault with the name 
moral sense, although I conceive this name has given occasion te 
some mistakes concerning the nature of our moral power. 
Modern philosophers have conceived of the external senses as 
having no other office but to give us certain sensations, or simple 
conceptions, which we could not have without them. And this 
notion has been applied to the moralsense. But it seems tome 
a mistaken notion in both. By the sense of seeing, | not only 
have the conception of the different colours, but I perceive one 
hody to be of this colour, another of that. In like manner, by 
my moral sense, I not only have the conceptions of right and 
wrong in conduct, but I perceive this conduct to be right, thai 
io be wrong, and that indifferent. All our senses are judging 
faculties, so also is conscience. Nor is this power only a judge 
of our own actions and those of others, it is likewise a princi- 
ple of action in all good men; and so far only can our conduct 
be denominated virtuous, as it is influenced by this principle. 

A second consequence from the principle laid down in this 
chapter is, that the formal nature and essence of that virtue 
which is the object ef moral approbation, consists neither in a 
prudent prosecution of our private interest, nor in benevolent 
affections toward others, nor in qualities useful or agreeable te 
ourselves or to others, nor in sympathizing with the passions and 
affections of others, and in attuning our own conduct to the tone 
of other men’s passions ; but it consists in living in all good con- 
science, that is, in using the best means in our power to know 
our duty, and acting accordingly. 

Prudence is a virtue, benevolence is a virtue, fortitude is 2 
virtue ; but the essence and formal nature of virtue must lie in 
something that is common to all these, and to every other virtue. 
And this I conceive can be nothing else but the rectitude of 
such conduct, and turpitude of the contrary, which is discerned 
by a.good man. And so far only he is virtuous as he pursues 
the former. and avoids the latter. 


264 ESSAY Y. 


CHAPTER VY. - 


WHETHER JUSTICE BE A NATURAL OR AN ARTIFICIAL VIRTUE. 
ENT sy 

MR.HUMDP’S philosophy concerning morals was first present- 
ed to the world in the third volume of his Treatise of Human 
Nature, in the year 1740; afterward, in his Inquiry concerning 
the Principles of Morals, which was published by itself, and 
then in several editions of his Essays and Treatises. 

In these two works on morals, the system is the same. A 
more popular arrangement, great embellishment, and the omis- 
sion of some metaphysical reasonings, have given a preference 
in the public esteem to the last; but | find neither any new prin- 
ciples in it, nor any new arguments in support of the system 
common to both. 

In this system, the proper object of moral approbatiea ‘is not 
actions or any voluntary exertion, but qualities of mind ; that 
these natural affections or passions, which are involuntary, a part 

ta of the constitution of the man, and common to us rhs 
brute animals. When we praise or blame any voluntary action, 
‘it is only considered as a sign of the natural affection from which 
it flows, and from which all its merit or demerit is derived. » 
¥ Moral approbation or disapprobation is not an act of the 
judgment, which, like allacts of judgment, must be true or false, 
it is only a certain feeling, which, from the constitution of hu- 
man nature, arises upon contemplating certain characters or 
» gualities of mind coolly and impartially. 
» @This feeling, when agreeable, is moral approbation; when 
disagreeable, disapprobation. The qualities of mind-which pro- 
duce this agreeable feeling are the moral virtues, and those that 
) ” aeteiice the disagreeable, the vices. 
_ These preliminaries being granted, the question ‘about the 
Mie _ foundation of morals is reduced to a simple question of fact, 
ez. What are the qualities of mind which produce, in the dis- 
alee observer, the feeling of approbation, or the contrary 
ggfeeling 
pein answer to this question, is author endeavours to prove, 
“¢ yg a very copious induction, that all personal merit, all virtue, 
all that is the object of moral approbation, consists in the quali- 
ties of mind which are agreeable or useful to the rasa who 
possesses them, or to others. 

The dulce and the utile is the whole sum of merit in every 
character, in every quatity of mind, andin every action of life. 
There is no room left-for that honestum which Cicero thus de- 
fines, Honestum igitur id intelligimus, quod tale est, ut detracta 


ial 


| 


OB JUSTICE. 965 


omni ulilitate, sine ullis premus fructibusve, per sé ysum possit 
jure laudari. 

Among the ancient moralists, the Epicureans were the only 
sect who denied that there is any such thing as honestum, or mo- 
ral worth, distinct from pleasure. In this Mr. Hume’s system 
agrees with theirs. For the addition of utility to pleasure, asa 
foundation of morals, makes only a verbal, but no real difference. 
What is useful only has no value in itself, but derives all its 
merit from the end for which it is useful. That end, in this 
system, is agreeableness or pleasure. So that, in both systems, 
pleasure is the only end, the only thing that is good in itself, and 
desirable for its own sake; and virtue derives all its merit from 
its tendency to produce pleasure. 

Agreeableness and utility are not moral conceptions, nor have 
they any connexion with morality. What a man does, merely 
because it is agreeable, or useful to procure what is agreeable, 
is not virtue. Therefore the Epicurean system was justly 
thought by Cicero, and the best moralists among the ancients, 
to subvert morality, and to substitute another principle in its 
room ; and this system is liable to the same censure. 

_In one thing, however, it differs remarkably from that of 


Epicarus. It allows, that there are disinterested affections in 
human nature; that the love of children and relations, friend- 


ship, gratitude, compassion, and humanity, are not, as Kpicurus 
maintained, different modifications of self-love, but simple and 
original parts of the human constitution; that when interest, or 
envy, or revenge, pervert not our dispositions, we are inclined, 
from natural philanthropy, to desire, and to be pleased with the 
happiness of the human kind. 


All this, in opposition to the Epicurean system, Mr. Hume 


‘maintains with great strength of reason and eloquence, and, in 


es pe 


this respect, his system is more liberal and disinterested than 7 x 


that of the Greek philosopher. According to Epicurus, virtue 


is whatever is agreeable to ourselves. According to Mr. Hume, 


i 


every quality of mind that is agreeable or useful to ourselyesor 


ig 


to others. we 
This theory of the nature of virtue, it must be acknowledged, 
enlarges greatly the catalogue of moral virtues, by bringing into 


Nor does there appear any good reason why the useful and 
agreeable qualities of body and of fortune, as well as those of 
the mind, should not have a place among moral virtues in this 
system. They have the essence of virtue; that is, agreeable- 
ness and utility, why then should they not have the name ? 

But, to compensate this addition to the moral virtues, one 
class of them seems to be greatly degraded and deprived of all 
intrinsic merit. The useful virtues, as was above observed, are 
only ministering servants of the agreeable, and purveyors for 


ak. 


that catalogue every quality of mind that is useful oragreeable. _ 


t % ‘ 


266 ESSAY Y. 


them ; they must, therefore, be so far inferior in dignity, as hardly 
to deserve the same name. 

Mr. Hume, however, gives the name of virtue to both ; and, 
to distinguish them, calls the agreeable qualities, natural virtues, 
and the useful, artificial. 

The natural virtues are those natural affections of the human 
constitution which give immediate pleasure in their exercise. 
Such are all the benevolent affections. Nature disposes to them, 
and from their own nature they are agreeable, both when we 
exercise them ourselves, and when we contemplate their exer- 
cise in others. 

The artificial virtues are such as are esteemed solely on 
account of their utility, either to promote the good of society, as 
justice, fidelity, honour, veracity, allegiance, chastity; or on 
account of their utility to the possessor, as industry, discretion, 
frugality, secresy, order, perseverance, forethought, judgment, 
and others, of which, he says, many pages could not contain the 
catalogue. 

This general view of Mr. Hume’s system concerning the 
foundation of morals, seemed necessary, in order to understand 
distinctly themeaning of that principle of his, whichisto be the sub- 
ject of this chapter, and on which he has bestowed much labour ; 
to wit, that justice is not a natural, but an artificial virtue. © 

This system of the foundation of virtue is so contradictory in 
many of its essential points to the account we have before given 
of the active powers of human nature, that, if the one be true, 
the other must be false. he 

If God has given to man a power which we call conscience, the 
moral faculty, the sense of duty, by which, when he comes to 

ears of understanding, he perceives certain things that depend 
on his will to be his duty, and other things to be base and un- 
worthy ; if the notion of duty be a simple conception, of its own 
kind, and of a different nature from the conceptions of utility 
and agreeableness, of interest or reputation ; if this moral 
faculty be the prerogative of man, and no vestige of it be found 
in brute animals ; if it be given us by God to regulate all our ani- 
mal affections and passions ; if to be governed by it be the glory 
of man and the image of God in his soul, and to disregard its 
dictates be his dishonour and depravity : I say, if these things 
be so, to seek the foundation of morality in the affections which 
we have in common with the brutes, is to seek the living among 
the dead, and to change the glory of man, and the image of God 
in his soul, into the similitude of an ox that eateth grass. 

If virtue and vice be a matter of choice, they must consist in 
voluntary actions, or in fixed purposes of acting according to a 
certain rule when there is opportunity, and not in qualities of 
mind which are involuntary. " 

It is true, that every virtue is both agreeable and useful in the 


OP JUSTICE. 967 


highest degree ; and that every quality that is agreeable or 
useful, has a merit upon that account. But virtue has a merit 
peculiar to itself, a merit which does not arise from its being 
useful or agreeable, but from its being virtue. This merit is 
discerned by the same faculty by which we discern it to be vir- 
tue, and by no other. 

We give the name of esteem both to the regard we have for 
things useful and agreeable, and to the regard we have for virtue ; 
but these are different kinds of esteem. I esteem a man for his 
ingenuity and learning. [esteem him for bis moral worth. The 
sound of esteem in both these speeches is the same, but its mean- 
ing is very different. 

Good breeding Is a very amiable quality ; and even if I knew 
that the man had no motive to it but its pleasure and atility to 
himself and others, I should like it still, but I would not in that 
ease call. it a moral virtue. 

A dog has a tender concern for her puppies ; so has a man for 
his children. The natural affection is the same in both, and is 
amiable in both. But why do we impute moral virtue to the man 
en account of this concern, and not to the dog? The reason 
surely is, thatin the man, the natural affection is accompanied 
with a sense of duty, but, in the dog, itisnot. The same thing 
may be said of all the kind affections common to us with the 
brutes. They are amiable qualities, but they are not moral 
virtues. 

What has been said relates to Mr. Hume’s system in general. 
We are now to consider his notion of the particular virtue of 
justice, that its merit consists wholly in its utility to society. 

That justice is highly useful and necessary in society, and, on 
that account, ought to be loved and esteemed by all that love 
mankind, will readily be granted. And as justice isa social vir- 
tue, it is true also, that there could be no exercise of it, and 
perhaps we should have no cenception of it, without society. 
But this is equally true of the natural affections of benevolence, 
gratitude, friendship, and compassion, which Mr. Hume makes 
to be the natural virtues. . 

It may be granted to Mr. Hume, that men have no conception 
of the virtue of justice till they have lived some time in society. 
It is purely a moral conception, and our moral conceptions and 
moral judgments are not born with us. ‘They grow up by de- 
grees, as our reason does. Nor do! pretend to know how early, 
orin what order, we acquire the conception of the several vir- 
tues. The conception of justice supposes some exercise of the 
moral faculty, which, being the noblest part of the human consti- 
tution, and that to which all its other parts are subservient, 
appears latest. 

It may likewise be granted, that there is no animal affection in 
human nature that prompts us immediately to acts of justice, as 


to 


268 ESSAY V. 


such. We have natural affections of the animal kind, which 
immediately prompt us to acts of kindness ; but none, that I 
know, that has the same relation to justice, The yery concep- 
tion of justice supposes a moral faculty ; but our natural kind 
affections do not; otherwise we must allow that brutes have 
this faculty. bite 

What I maintain is, ist, that when men come to the exercise 
of their morai faculty, they perceive a turpitude in injustice, as 
they do in other crimes, and consequently an obligation to justice, 
abstracting from the consideration of its utility. And, 2dly, that 
as soon as men have any rational conception of a favour, and of 
an injury, they must have the conception of justice, and perceive 
its obligation distinct from its utility. 

The first of these points hardly admits of any other proof, but 
an appeal to the sentiments of every honest man, and every man 
of honour, whether his indignation is not immediately inflamed 
against an atrocious act of villany, without the cool considera- 
tion of its distant consequences upon the good of society ? 

We might appeal even to robbers and pirates, whether they 
have not had great struggles with their conscience, when they 
first resolved to break through all the rules of justice? And 
whether, in a solitary and serious hour, they have not frequently 
felt the pangs of guilt? They have very often confessed this at 
a time when all disguise is laid aside. cat 

The common good of society, though a pleasing object to all 
men, when presented to their view, hardly ever enters into the 
thoughts of the far greatest part of mankind ; and, if a regard to 
it were the sole motive to justice, the number of honest men 
must be smallindeed. It would be confined to the higher ranks, 
who, by their education, or by their office, are led to make the 
public good an object ; but that it is so confined, I believe no man 
will venture to affirm. a4 

The temptations to injustice are strongest in the lowest class _ 
of men ; andif nature had provided no motive to oppose those 
temptations, but a sense of public good, there would not be 


_., found an honest man in that class. 


To all men that are not greatly corrupted, injustice, as well 
as cruelty and ingratitude, is an object of disapprobation on its. 
own account. There isa voice within us that proclaims it to be 
base, unworthy, and deserving of punishment. a jul 

That there is, in all ingenuous natures, an antipathy to roguery 
and treachery, a reluctance to the thoughts of villany and base- 
ness, we have the testimony of Mr. Hume himself; who, as I 
doubt not but he felt it, has expressed it very strongly in the 
conclusion to his Inquiry, and acknowledged that, in some 
cases, without this reluctance and antipathy to dishonesty, a 
sensible knave would find no sufficient motive from public good 
to be honest. 


OF JUSTICE. 269 


Yshall'give the passage at large from the Inquiry concerning 
the Principles of Morals, sect. 9, near the end. 
|“ Treating vice with the greatest candour, and making it all 
sible concessions, we must acknowledge that there is not, in 
any instance, the smallest pretext for giving it the preference 
above virtue, with a view to self-interest ; except, perhaps, in 
the case of justice, where a man, taking things, in a certain light, 
may often seem to be a loser by his integrity. And though it is 
allowed that, without a regard to property, no society could 
' subsist: yet, according to the imperfect way in which human 
affairs are conducted, a sensible knave, in particular incidents, 
may think, that an act of iniquity or infidelity will make a con- 
siderable addition to his fortune, without causing any considera- 
ble breach in the social union and confederacy. That honesty ts 
the best policy, may be a good general rule, but it is liable to 
many exceptions : and he, it may perhaps be thought, conducts 
himself with most wisdom, who observes the general rule, and 
takes advantage of allthe exceptions. 

\ “7 must confess that, if a man think that this reasoning 
requires an answer, it will be alittle difficult to find any which 
willto him appear satisfactory and convincing. If his heart 
rebel not against such pernicious maxims, if he feel no reluctance 
to the thoughts of villany and baseness, he has indeed lost a con- 
siderable motive to virtue, and we may expect that his practice 
will be answerable to his speculation. But in all ingenuous 
natures, the antipathy to treachery and roguery is too strong to 
be counterbalanced by any views of profit or pecuniary advan- 
tage. Inward peace of mind, consciousness of integrity, a satis- 
factory review of our own conduct; these are circumstances 
very requisite to happiness, and will be cherished and cultivated 
by every honest man who feels the importance of them.” 

The reasoning of the sensible knave in this passage, seems to 
me to be justly founded upon the principles of the Inquiry and 
of the Treatise of Human Nature, arid therefore it is no wonder, 
that the author should find it a littlé difficult to give any answer 
which would appear satisfactory and convincing to such a man. 
To counterbalance this reasoning, he puts in the other scale a 
reluctance, an antipathy, a rebellion of the heart against such 
pernicious maxims, whichis felt by ingenuous natures. 

Let us consider a little the force of Mr. Hume’s answer to 
this sensible knave, who reasons upon his own principles. I 
think it is either an acknowledgment, that there is a natural 
judgment of conscience in ‘man, that injustice and treachery is 
a base and unworthy practice, which is the point I would. 

_ establish ; or it has no force to convince either the knave or an 
honest man. shout er “legs rg TK 

‘A clear and intuitive judgment, resulting from the constitution 
of human nature,: is sufficient to overbalance a train of subtile 

VOLs. Tl 35 


270 ESSAY. V. 


reasoning on the other side. Thus, the testimony of our, 
is yificient to overbalance all the vile Ga te 2 
against their testimony. And, if there bea ; 
conscience in favour of honesty, all the:subtile reasor 
knave against it ought to be rejected without examination, 
fallacious and sophistical, because it.concludes against a se 
evident principle ; just as we reject the subtile reasoning ¢ 
metaphysician against the evidence of sensee 5. 
If, therefore, the reluctance, the antipathy, the rebellion of 
the heart against injustice, which Mr. Hume sets against th 
reasoning of the knave, include in their ‘meaning a matur 
intuitive judgment of conscience, that injustice is base and 
unworthy, the reasoning of the knave is convincingly answered ; 
but the principle, That justice is an artificial virtue, approved 
solely for tts utility, is given up. ine Yona On 
If, on the other hand, the antipathy, reluctance, and rebellion 
of heart, imply no judgment, but barely an uneasy, feeling, a) 
that not natural, but acquired and artificial, the answer isi 
very agreeable to the principles of the Jngury, but has no force 
to convince the knave, or any other mane. . 4.) 
The knave is here supposed by Mr. Hume to have no 
feelings, and therefore the answer does not touch his, i 
least, but leaves him in the full possession of his reaso 
And ingenuous natures, who have these PPE ete delibe- 
rate whether they will yield to acquired and artificial feelings, in 
opposition to rules of conduct, which, to their best judgment, 


appear wise and prudent. line otieeidthae 4 
PThe second thing | proposed to show yon atnt, capone! 
men have any rational conception of a favour and of an injury, 
they must have the conception of justice, and perceive its 
obligation. 4 PAHS She 


The power with which the Author of nature hi s endowed 
us, may be employed either to do good to our fellow-men, or 
to hurt them. When we employ our power to promote 
good and happiness of others, this is a benefit or favour; when 
we employ it to hurt them, it is an injury. Justice fillsup the 
middle between these two. It is such a conduct as does no 
injury to others; but it does not imply the doing them any 
favour. oS ait al ene 
The notions of a favour and of an injury, appear as ea 
the mind of man as any rational notion whatever. They a 
discovered, not by language only, but by certain affections 
mind, of which they are the natural objects. A fayourm 
rally produces gratitude. An injury done to ourselves prt 
resentment; and even when done to another, it roduces: 
indignation. ORT, AQT, Ae 
I take it for granted that gratitude and resentment areno 
Jess natural to the human mind than hunger and thirst; and 


OF JUSTICE. 271 


that those affections are no less naturally excited by their 
re 3 objects and occasions than these appetites. 
- Tt*is no less evident, that the proper and formal object of 
gratitude is a person who has done us a favour; that of resent- 
ment, a person who has done us an injury. 

' Before the use of reason, the distinction between a favour 
and an agreeable office is not perceived. 

Every action of another person which gives present pleasure 

produces love and good will toward the agent. Every action 
that gives pain or uneasiness produces resentment. This is 
common to man before the use of reason, and to the more 
sagacious brutes; and it shows no conception of justice in 
either. 
- But, as we grow up to the use of reason, the notion, both of 
a favour and of an injury, grows more distinct and better 
defined. It is not enough that a good office be done; it 
must be done from good will, and with a good intention, 
otherwise itis no favour, nor does it produce gratitude. 

Thave heard of a physician who gave spiders in a medicine 
to a dropsical patient, with an intention to poison him, and 
that this medicine cured the patient contrary to the intention of 
the physician. Surely no gratitude, but resentment, was due by 
the patient, when he knew the real state of the case. It is 
evident to every man, that a benefit arising from the action of 
another, either without or against his intention, is not a motive 
to gratitude ; that is, no favour. 

Another thing implied in the nature of a favour is, that it be 
not due. A man may save my credit by paying what he owes 
me. In this case, what he does tends to my benefit, and ~ 
perhaps is done with that intention; but it is not a favour, it is 
no more than he was bound to do. 

Ifa servant do his work, and receive his wages, there is no 
favour done on either part, nor any object of gratitude ; because, 
though each party has benefited the other, yet reither has done 
more than he was bound to do. 

~ What I infer from this is, that the conception of a favour in 

‘every man come to years of understanding, implies the concep- 
‘tion of things not due, and consequently the conception of 
things that are due. 

A negative cannot be conceived by one who has no con- 
ception of the correspondent positive. Not to be due is the 
negative of being due; and he who conceives one of them 
must conceive both. The conception of things due and not 
due must therefore be found in every mind which has any 
‘rational conception of a favour, or any rational sentiment of 
gratitude. 

_ If'we consider, on the other hand, what an injury is which is 
the object of the natural passion of resentment, every man 


Ae ESSAY ¥. 


capable of reflection, perceives that an‘ imjury: implies’ more 
than being hurt. If I be hurt by a ut of the 
wall, or by a flash of lightning, or ‘bya ¢ 1d involun- 
tary motion of another man’s-arm, no injury is done; no resent- 


ment raised in a man that has reason.” . In thisyasdmal 
actions, there must be the will and intention of the age 
the hurt. eo DiUN {ona tec: RiaeR ig 


Nor is this sufficient to constitute an injarys Pratcyonan 
breaks my fences, or treads down my ‘corn,’ when! 0 
otherwise preserve himself from destruction, who»has’ no in= 
jurious intention, and is ‘willing to indemnify me for the hurt 
which necessity, and not ill will, led him to’ do, is: juriot 
nor isan object of resentment. §~ 9 =) em ae 

The executioner who does his duty,’ in cutting off thevhead 
of a condemned criminal, is not an object of resentment.’ He 
does nothing unjust, and therefore nothing injuriots!.") © 9) 

From this it is evident, that an injury, ‘the object»of’ the 
natural passion of resentment, implies in it ‘the/notion’ of 
injustice. And it is no less evident, that no man°can*have a 
notion of injustice without having the notion of justices ©» «9 

To sum up what has been said upon this point: a favourjan 
act of justice, and an injury, are so related to one another, that 
he who conceives one must conceive the other two ey 
lie, as it were, in one line, and resemble the’ relati ree 
less, and equal. If one understands what is meant by one line 
being greater or less than another, he can be at no loss to under 


. 


stand what is meant by its being equal ‘to the-other; forjaf it : 
y g eq sone “4 


be neither greater nor less, it must be equals 9) o> 

In like manner, of those actions by which'we profit or hart 
other men, a favour is more than justice, an injury” is ‘less; 
and that which is neither a favour nor an injury is a acti 

As soon, therefore, as men come to have any proper notion 
of a favour and of an injury; assoon as they have iona 
exercise of gratitude and of resentment; so soon''they ‘must 
have the conception of justice and of injustice’; and af grati- 
tudeand resentment be natural to man, which’ Mri*Hume ak 
lows, the notion of justice must be no less natural’ ©) 199 

The notion of justice carries inseparably along with 
perception of its moral obligation. For’ to say that ‘such’ an 
action is an act of justice, that it°is due, that itjoughtte be 


done, that we are under a moral obligation 'to doit, are 
different ways of expressing the same thing. Itis ‘true; thai 
we perceive no high degree of moral worth in a yj 
action, when it is not opposed by interest or passion #/but we 
perceive a high degree of turpitude and demerit injunj actions 
or in the omission of what justice requires. © 9 ™ alt apili, 
Indeed, if there were no other argument to prove, that ‘the 
obligation of justice is not solely derived from its utility to"pre- 


= 


: 


: 


‘ 


P 


OP JUSTICE. 273 


cure what,is agreeable either to ourselves or to society, this 
would be:sufficient, that the very conception of justice implies 
its obligation. . The morality of justice is included in the very 
idea:of it ; nor is it possible that the conception of justice can en- 
terinto the human mind, without carrying along with it the con- 
ception of duty and moral obligation... Its obligation, therefore, is 
inseparable from its nature, and is not derived solely from its 
utility, either to ourselves or to society. isa is 

_ We may further observe, that as inall moral estimation, every 
action takes its denomination. from the motive that produces 
it ; sono action can properly be denominated an act of justice, 
unless it be done from a regard tojustice. 

If a man pays his debt, only that he may not be cast into 
prison, he is not a just man, because prudence, and not justice, 
is his motive...And if a man, from benevolence and charity, 
gives to another what is really due to him, but what he believes 

- not to be due, this is not an act of justice in him, but of charity 
or benevolence, because it is not done from a motive of justice. 
These are self-evident truths ; nor is it less evident, that whata 
man does merely to procure something agreeable, either to him- 
self or to others, is not an act of justice, nor has the merit of 
justice. 

Good music and good cookery have the merit of utility, in 
procuring what is agreeable both to ourselves and to society, but 
they never obtained among mankind the denomination of moral 
virtues. Indeed, if this author’s system be well founded, great 
injustice has been done them on that account. 

I shall now make some observations upon the reasoning of 
this author, in proof of his favourite principle, that justice is not 
a natural, but an artificial virtue; or, as it is expressed in the 
Inquiry, that public utility is the sole origin of justice, and that 
reflections on the beneficial consequences of this virtue are the 

’ sole foundation of its merit. 

Ist, lt must be acknowledged, that this principle has a neces- 
sary connexion with his system concerning the foundation of all 
virtue ; and therefore it is no wonder that he has taken so.much 

: — to support it; for the whole system must stand or fall 
with it. . 

If the dulce and the utile, that is, pleasure, and what is useful 
to procure pleasure, be the whole merit of virtue, justice can 
have no merit beyond its utility to procure pleasure. If, on 
the other hand, an intrinsic worth in justice, and demerit in 
injustice, be discerned by every man that hasa conscience ; if 
there be a natural principle in the constitution of man, by which 
justice is approved, and injustice disapproved and condemned, 
then the whole of this laboured system must fall to the ground. 

2dly, We may observe, that as justice is directly opposed te 
injury, and as there are various ways in which a man may he in- 


274, ESSAY VY. 


red, so there must be various branches: of ce oppose ‘to 
the different kinds of i injury. hice hed 


- A man may be injured, Ist, in his person, by wou nding, mere 
ing, or killing him; 2dly, in his family, by robbin 
ia bis i or any way injuring ges he i is boun rep Dre 


to tcichty to F hneetints made with hae hh 8a) 
a right to these things, has- precisely the same meani 
say, that justice requires that he should’ be permitted to en) 
them, or that it is unjust to violate them. For injustice is \ 
violation of right, and justice is, to yield to “every man : 
his right. . ut 
These things being understood as the simplest and me st com. 
mon ways of expressing the various branches o é are 
to consider how far Mr. Hume’s reasoning proves an 1 of 
them to be artificial, or grounded solely upon public utilit r 
last of them, fidelity to engagements, is to be the sub t 
next chapter, and therefore I shall say nothing of it tint 
The four first named, to wit, the right of an innoce nt ‘man 
the safety of his person and family, to his. pe and re reputati 
are, by the writers on jurisprudence, called ‘natural en 
man, because they are grounded in the nature of ‘m 


tional and moral agent, and are, by his Creator, c t Past 
his care and keeping. By being called natural, or in s they 


are distinguished from acquired rights, which si uppos é som 
vious act or deed of man by which they are act cquired, 
natural rights suppose nothing of this kind. Rea 
When a man’s natural rights are violated, rte Re “a 
tuitively, and he feels, that he is injured. The 
heart arises from the judgment of his understanding 
did not believe that the hurt was intended, and vii 
ed, he would not have that feeling. He perceives th 
done to himself, and that he has a right to redress. b ‘The: 
principle of resentment is roused by the view of its | 
ject, and excites him to defend his right. Even the 
person is conscious of his doing injury ; he dreads a 
tion ; and if it be in the power of the injured person, hi 
it as due and 1 deserved? Ob ct A 
That these Sentiments spring up in the mind of mai as nat 
rally as his body. grows to its proper stature ; that the 
the birth of instruction, either of parents, priests, Bhilosopierth 


OF JUSTICE. 275 


or politicians, but the pure growth of nature, cannot, I think, 
without effrontery, be denied. We find them, equally strong in 
the most savage and in the most civilized tribes of mankind; 
and nothing can weaken them but an inveterate habit of rapine 
and bloodshed, which benumbs the conscience, and turns men 
into wild beasts. POT TH Tae i 
The public good is very properly considered by the judge who 
* punishes a private injury, but seldom enters into the thought of 
the injured person. | In all criminai law, the redress due to the 
private sufferer is distinguished from that which is due to the 
public ; a distinction which could have no foundation, if the de- 
merit of injustice arose solely from its hurting the public. And 
every man is conscious of a specific difference between the re- 
sentment he feels for an injury done to himself, and his indigna- 
tion against a wrong done to the public. . . 

1 think, therefore, it is evident, that, of the six branches of 
justice we mentioned, four are natural, in the strictest sense, 
being founded upon the constitution of man, and antecedent to 
all deeds and conventions of society; so that, if there were but 
two men upon the earth, one might be unjust and injurious, and 
the other injured. 

But does Mr. Hume maintain the contrary ? 

To this question I answer, that his doctrine seems to imply it, 
but I hope he meant it not. 

He affirms in general, that justice is not a natural virtue ;_ that 
it derives its origin solely from public utility, and that reflections 
on the beneficial consequences of this virtue are the sole foun- 
dation of its merit. He mentions no particular branch of justice 
as an exception to this general rule; yet justice, in common 
language, and in all the writers on jurisprudence I am acquain- 
ted with, comprehends the four branches above mentioned. 
His doctrine, therefore, according to the common construction 
of words, extends to these four, as well as to the two other 
branches of justice, 

On the other hand, if we attend to his long and laboured proof 
of this doctrine, it appears evident, that he had in his eye only 
two particular branches of justice. No part of his reasoning 
applies to the other four. He seems, I know not why, to have 
taken up a confined notion of justice, and to haye restricted it 
to a regard to property and fidelity in contracts. As to other 
branches he is silent. He nowhere says, that it is not naturally 
criminal to rob an innocent man of his life, of his children, of 
his liberty, or of his reputation ; and I am apt to think he never 
meant it. 

‘The only philosopher I know who has had the assurance to 
maintain this, is Mr. Hobbes, who makes the state of nature to 
be a state of war, of every man against every man; and of such 


276 ; ESSAY V. 


a war in which every man has a right to do and to acquire 
whatever his power fy by any pin cc »plie § ‘that is, a 
state wherein neither right nor injury, justice nor injustice, can 
possibly exist. cos Leu Sralalhip bse 
_ Mr. Hume mentions this system of Hobbes, but wi 
adopting it, though he allows it the authority of i 
favour. 7 “roa! ele ie soc 
_ He says ina note, “ This fiction of a state of nature as, 
state of war, was not first started by Mr, Hobbes, asisc 
imagined. Plato endeavours to refute an hypothesis 
it, in the 2d, 3d, and 4th books, De Republica. Cicero, 
contrary, supposes it certain, and universally acknowledged, in 
the following passage, &c.”? Pro Sextio, h 42.. ..... 4009 
The passage which he quotes at large, from one of 73 
Orations, seems to me to require some straining to makei a 
with the system of Mr. Hobbes. Be this as it may, Mr. Hume. 
might have added, that Cicero, in his Orations, like y other 
pleaders, sometimes. says, not what he bislaebed etomonane 
fit to support the cause of his client. That Cicero’s opinion, 
with regard to the natural obligation of justice, was very differ- 
ent from that of Mr. Hobbes, and even from Mr, Hume’s, is yery. 
well known. ak eee) 
3dly, As Mr. Hume, therefore, has said nothing to prove the 
four branches.of justice which relate to the innate rights of men, 
to be artificial, or to derive their origin solely from public utility, 
I proceed to the fifth branch, which requires us not to invade. 
another man’s property. DAA gee alle laa ° 
The right of property is not innate, but acquired. It is not 
grounded upon the constitution of man, but upon his actions. 
Writers on jurisprudence have explained its origin inja man- 
ner that may satisfy every man of common understanding... 
The earth is given to men in common for the purposes of life, 
by the bounty of heaven. But, to divide it, and app iate. 
one part of its produce to one, another part to another, must be 
the work of men, who have power and understanding given them, 
by which every man may accommodate himself without hurt to. 
any other. rer wore cows ee 
‘This common right of every man to what the earth produ 
before it be occupied and appropriated by others was, by ancient. 
moralists, very properly compared to. the right which every citi- 
zen had to the public theatre?where every man that came might, 
occupy an empty seat, and thereby acquire a right to it whi 
the entertainment lasted ; but no man had a right to di 
another. t Ai 
The earth is a great theatre, furnished by the Almighty, witl 
perfect wisdom and goodness, for the entertainmentand employ-. 
ment of all mankind. Here every man has a right M0 


 Iblve 
1Ke 
> 


OF JUSTICE. 377 


date himself as a spectator, and to perform his part as an actor, 
but without hurt to others. 

' He who does so isa just man, and thereby entitled to some 
degree of moral approbation ; and he who not only does no 
hurt, but employs his power to do good, is a good man, and is 
thereby entitled to a higher degree of moral approbation. But 


he who justles and molests his neighbour, who deprives him of 


any accommodation which his industry has provided without 
hurt to others, is unjust, and a proper object of resentment. 

It is true, therefore, that property has a beginning from the 
actions of men, occupying, and perhaps improving, by their 
industry, what was common by nature. It is true also, that 
before property exists, that branch of justice and injustice which 
regards property cannot exist. But it is also true, that where 
there are men, there will very soon be property of one kind or 
another, and consequently there will be that branch of justice 
which attends property as its guardian. 

’ There are two kinds of property which we may distinguish. 
The first is what must presently be consumed to sustain life ; 
the second, which is more permanent, is what may be laid up 
and stored for the supply of future wants. 

Some of the gifts of nature must be used and consumed by 
individuals for the daily support of life; but they cannot be 
used till they be occupied and appropriated. If another person 
may, without injustice, rob me of what I have innocently occu- 
pied for present subsistence, the necessary consequence must 
be, that he may, without injustice, take away my life. 

A right to life implies a right to the necessary means of life. 
And that justice which forbids the taking away the life of an 
innocent man, forbids no less the taking from him the necessary 
means of life. He has the same right to defend the one as the 
other ; and nature inspires him with the same just resentment 
of the/one injury as of the other. 

~The natural right of liberty implies a right to such innocent 
labour as a man chooses, ‘and to the fruit of that labour. ‘To 
hinder ‘another man’s innocent labour, or to deprive him’ of 
the fruit of it, is an injustice of the same kind, and has the same 
effect, as to put him in fetters or in prison, and is equally a just 
object of resentment. 

Thus it appears, that some kind, or some degree, of property . 
must exist wherever men exist, and that the right to such pro- 
perty is the necessary consequence of the natural right of men 
to life and liberty. 

It has been further observed, that God has made man a 
sagacious and provident animal, led by his constitution not 
only to occupy and use what nature has provided for the supply 
of his present wants and necessities, but to foresee future wants 

VOL, Il. 36 


278 ESSAY Y. 


and to provide for them; and that not only for himself, bu 
his family, his friends, and connexions, Wham er 
nature when he 


He therefore acts in perfect conformity 1 
stores, of the fruit of his labour, what may afterward 
to himself or to others; when he invents and fabri 
utensils or machines by which his labour may be facili 
its produce increased; and when, by exchanging with hi 
men commodities or labour, he accommodates both } 
and them. ‘These are the natural and innocent exerti 
that understanding wherewith his Maker has endowed him. 
He has therefore a right to exercise them, and to enjoy the fruit 
of them. Every man who impedes him in gh e 
tions, or deprives him of the fruit of them, is injurious < 
unjust, and an object of just resentment. (Senate wat genet 
Many brute animals are led by instinct to provide for futurity, 
and to defend their store, and their storehouse, against 
invaders. There seems to be in man, before the use of reason, 
an instinct of the same kind. When reason and conscience grow 
up, they approve and justify this provident care, and condemn, 
as unjust, every invasion of others, that may frustrate it. 
Two instances of this provident sagacity seem to } culiar 


to man. I mean the invention of utensils and ma ‘lo 


7 


facilitating labour, and the making exchanges with his fell w- 
men for mutual benefit. No tribe of men has been found so 
rude as not to practise these things in some degree. And I 
know no tribe of brutes that was ever observed to practise 
them. ‘They neither invent nor use utensils or machines, nor 
do they traffic by exchanges. bi apa, stay Ned 
From these observations, I think it evident, that man, eyen 
in the state of nature, by his powers of body and mind, may 
acquire permanent property, or what we call riches, by which 
his own and his family’s wants are more liberally supplied, and 
his power enlarged to requite his benefactors, to relieve jects 
of compassion, to make friends, and to defend his proper 
against unjust invaders. And we know from history, that men, 
who had no superior on earth, no connexion with any public 
beyond their own family, have acquired property, and had dis- 
tinct notions of that justice and injustice, of which itis the object. 
Every man, as a reasonable creature, has a right to gratify 
his natural and innocent desires without hurt to others. No 
desire is more natural, or more reasonable, than that 
supplying his wants. When this is done without hurt to any 
man, to hinder or frustrate his innocent Jabour, is an unjust 
violation of his natural liberty. Private utility leads a man to 
desire property, and to labour for it; and his right to it is only 
a right to labour for his own benefit. (i date blo 
That public utility is the sole origin, even of that branch of 


OF JUSTICE. 279 


justice which regards property, is so far from being true, that 
when men confederate and constitute a public, under laws and 
government, the right of each individual to his property is, by | 
that confederation, abridged and limited. In the state of nature, 
every man’s property was solely at his own disposal, because he 
had no superior. In civil society it must be subject to the laws 
of the society. He gives up to the public part of that right 
which he had in the state of nature, as the price of that pro- 
tection and security which he receives from civil society. In 
the state of nature, he was sole judge in his own cause, and 
had right to defend his property, his liberty, and life, as far as his 
power reached. In the state of civil society, he must submit 
to the judgment of the society, and acquiesce in its sentence, 
though he should conceive it to be unjust. 

What was said above, of the natural right every man has to 
acquire permanent property, and to dispose of it, must be 
understood with this condition, that no other man be thereby 
deprived of the necessary means of life. The right of an 
innocent man to the necessaries of life, is, in its nature, superior 
to that which the rich man has to his riches, even though they 
be honestly acquired. The use of riches, or permanent pro- 
perty, is to supply future and casual wants, which ought to 
yield to present and certain necessity. 

As, in a family, justice requires that the children who are 
unable to labour, and those who, by sickness, are disabled, 
should have their necessities supplied out of the common stock, 
so, in the great family of God, of which all mankind are 
the children, justice, I think, as well as charity, requires, that 
the necessities of those who, by the providence of God, are 
disabled from supplying themselves, should be supplied from 
what might otherwise be stored for future wants. 

From this it appears, that the right of acquiring and that of 
disposing of property, may be subject to limitations and 
restrictions, even in the state of nature, and much more in the 
state of civil society, in which the public has what writers in 
jurisprudence call an eminent dominion over the property, as 
well as over the lives of the subjects, as far as the public good 
requires. 

If these principles be well founded, Mr. Hume’s arguments, to 
prove that justice is an artificial virtue, or that its public utility 
1s the sole foundation of its merit, may be easily answered. . 

He supposes, Ist, a state in which nature has bestowed on 
the human race, such abundance of external goods, that every 
man, without care or industry, finds himself provided of 
whatever he can wish or desire. It is evident, says he, that in 
such a state, the cautious jealous virtue of justice would never 
once have been dreamed of. 

_ It may be observed, Ist, that this argument applies only to 


— 


2380 ESSAY Ve 


one of the six branches of justice before mentioned. © The 
other five are not in the least affected by it; and the reader 
will easily perceive that this observation applies to almost all. 
his arguments, so that it need not be repeated. 99 
Qdly, All that this argument proves is, that a state of the 
human race may be conceived wherein no property exists, and 
where, of consequence, there can be no exercise of that branch 
of justice which respects property. But does it follow from this, 
that where property exists, and must exist, that no regard ought 
_ to be had to it? + torment 
He next supposes that the necessities of the human race 
continuing the same as at present, the mind is so enlarged 
with friendship and generosity, that every man feels as much ten- 
derness and concern for the interest of every man, as for his 
own. It seems evident, he says, that the use of justice would 
be suspended by such an extensive benevolence, nor would the 
divisions and barriers of property and obligation have ever 
been thought of. Yes'7 thew ceed 
-T answer, the conduct which this extensive benevolence leads 
to, is either perfectly consistent with justice, or it is not. Ist, 
If there be any case where this benevolence would lead us to 
injustice, the use of justice is not suspended. Its obligation is 
superior to that of benevolence; and, to show benevolence to 
one, at the expense of injustice to another, is immoral:  2dly, 


Supposing no such case could happen, the use of justice would | 


not be suspended, because by it we must distinguish good 
offices to which we had a right, from those te which we had no 
right, and’which therefore require a return of gratitude. 3dly, 
Supposing the use of justice to be suspended, as it must be in 
every case where it cannot be exercised, will it follow, that 
its obligation is suspended, where there is access to exercise it ? 

A third supposition is the reverse of the first, that a society 
falls into extreme want of the necessaries of life. The ques- 
tion is put, whether in such a case, an equal partition of bread, 
without regard to private property, though effected by power, 
and even by violence, would be regarded as criminal and in- 
jurious? And the author conceives that this would be a suspen- 
sion of the strict laws of justice. ot eer teats 

I answer, that such an equal partition as Mr. Humementions, 
is so far from being criminal or injurious, that justice requires 
it; and surely that cannot be a suspension of the Jaws of 
justice, which is an act of justice. All that the strictest justice 
requires in such a case, is, that the man whose life is preserved 
at the expense of another, and without his consent, should 
indemnify him when he is able. His case is’ similar to that of 
a debtor who is insolvent, without any fault on his part. Justice 
requires that he should be forborn till he is able to pay. It is 
strange that Mr. Hume should think that an action, neither 


fy OF JUSTICE. 281 
eriminal nor injurious, should be a suspension of the laws of 
justice. This seems to mea contradiction, for justice and injury 
are contradictery terms. ti 

The neat argument is thus expressed : ‘“‘ When any man, even 
in political society, renders himself, by crimes, obnoxious to 
the public, he is punished-in his goods.and person ; that is, the 
ordinary rules of justice are, with regard to him, suspended for 
a moment, and it becomes equitable to inflict on him, what 
otherwise he could not suffer without wrong or injury.” 

This argument, like the former, refutes itself. For that an 
actionshould be a suspension of the rules of justice, and at the 
same time equitable, seems to me a contradiction. It is 
possible that equity may interfere with the letter of human 
laws, because all the cases that may fall under ihem, cannot be 
foreseen; but that equity should interfere with justice is im- 
possible. It is strange that Mr. Hume should think, that justice 
requires that a criminal should be treated in the same way as 
an innocent man. 

Another argument is taken from public war. What is. it, 
says he, but a suspension of justice among the warring parties ? 
The laws of war, which then succeed to those of equity and 
justice, are rules calculated for the advantage and utility of that 
particular state in which men are now placed. 

I answer, when war is undertaken for self-defence, or for 
reparation of intolerable injuries, justice authorizes it. » The 
Jaws of ‘war, which have been described by many judicious 
moralists, are all drawn from the fountain of justice and equity); 
and every thing contrary to justice, is contrary to the laws of 
war. That justice, which prescribes one rule of conduct toa 
master, another to a servant; one toa parent, another toachild ; 
prescribes also one rule of conduct toward a friend, another 
toward anenemy. Ido not understand what Mr. Hume means 
by the advantage and utility of a state of war, for which he says 
the laws of war are calculated, and succeed to those of justice 
and equity. 1 know no laws of war that are not calculated for 
justice and equity. 
The neat argument is this, were there a species of creatures 
intermingled with men, which, though rational, were possessed 
of such inferior strength both of body and mind, that they were 
incapable of all resistance, and could never, upon the highest 

provocation, make us feel the effects of their resentment; the 
necessary consequence, | think, is, that we should be bound, by 
the laws of humanity, to give gentle usage to these creatures, 
bat should not, properly speaking, lie under any restraint of 
justice with regard to them, nor could they possess any right or 
property, exclusive of such arbitrary lords. baad 
If Me. Hume had not owned this sentiment as a consequenc 
of his Theory of Morals, I should have thought it very unchari- 


= 
‘a 


282 ESSAY V. 


table to impute it to him. However, we may judge of the 
theory by its avowed consequence. For there cannot be better 
evidence, that a theory of morals, or of any particular virtue, 
is false, than when it subverts the practical ye ta 
This defenceless species of rational creatures is doomed by Mr. 
Hume to have no rights. Why? Because they have no power 
to defend themselves. Is not this to say, that right has its origi 
from power; which, indeed, was the doctrine of Mr. Hobbes. 
And to illustrate this doctrine, Mr. Hume adds, that as no 
inconvenience ever results from the exercise of a power, so 
firmly established in nature, the restraints of justice and property 
being totally useless, could never have place in so unequal a 
confederacy ; and, to the same purpose, he says, that the female” 
part of our own species, owe the share they have in the ; 
of society, to the power which their address and their charms 
give them. If this be sound morals, Mr. Hume’s theory of 
justice may be true. IT dan) 0s bet 
We may here observe, that though, in other places, Mr. 
Hume founds the obligation of justice upon its utility to ourselves, 
or to others, it is here founded solely upon utility to ourselves.’ 
For surely to be treated with justice would be highly useful to 
the defenceless species he here supposes to exist. But as’no 
inconvenience to ourselves can ever result from our treatmen 
of them, he concludes that justice would be useless, and there- 
fore can have no place. Mr. Hobbes could have said no more. 
He supposes, in the Jast place, a state of human nature, 
wherein all society and intercourse is cut off between man and 
man. It is evident, he says, ’that so solitary a being would ‘be 
as much incapable of justice as of social discourse and conver- 


sation. ce, 
And would not so solitary a being be as incapable of friendship, 
generosity, and compassion, as of justice? If this argument 
prove justice to be an artificial virtue, it will, with equal force, 
prove every social virtue to be artificial. dan th 
These are the arguments which Mr. Hume has advanced in 
his Jnquiry, in the first part of a long section upon justice. 
In the second part, the arguments are not so clearly distin- 
euished, nor can they be easily collected. I shall offer some 
remarks upon what seems most specious in this second part. > 
He begins with observing, “ That, if we examine the particul ar 
laws by which justice is directed and property determined, the 
present us with the same conclusion. The good of mankind’ 
the only object of all those laws and regulations.” = # 
It is not easy to perceive where the stress of this argument 
lies. The good of mankind is the object of all the laws andregu- 
lations by which justice is directed and property determined ; 
therefore justice ts not a natural virtue, but has its origin solely 


OF JUSTICE. 283 


from public utiliiy, and its beneficial consequences are the sole 
foundation of its merit. bese . 

Some step seems to be wanting to connect the antecedent 
propesition with the conclusion, which, I think, must be one or 
other of these two propositions; Ist, ll the rules of justice 
tend to public utility ; or, 2dly, Public utility is the only standard 
of justice, from which alone all its rules must be deduced. 

If the argument be, that justice must have its origin solely 
from public utility, because all its rules tend to public utility, I 
cannot admit the consequence; nor can Mr. Hume admit it 
without overturning his own system. For the rules of benevo- 
lence and humanity do all tend to the public utility, and yet, in 
his system, they have another foundation in human nature ; so 
likewise may the rules of justice. 

_I am apt to think, therefore, that the argument is to be taken 
in the last sense, that public utility is the only standard of justice, 
from which all its rules must be deduced ; and therefore justice 
has its origin solely from public utility. 

This seems to be Mr. Hume’s meaning, because, in what 
follows, he observes, that, in order to establish laws for the 
regulation of property, we must be acquainted with the nature 
and situation of man: must reject appearances which may be 
false, though specious; and must search for those rules which 
are, on the whole, most useful and beneficial; and endeavours 
to show, that the established rules which regard property are 
more for the public good, than the system either of those reli- 
gious fanatics of the last age, who held, that saints only should 
inherit the earth; or of those political fanatics, who claimed 
an equal division of property. 

We see here, as before, that though Mr. Hume’s conclusion 
respects justice in general, his argument is confined to one 
branch of justice ; to wit, the right of property ; and it is well 
known, that, to conclude from a part to the whole is not good 
reasoning. ) 

Besides, the proposition from which his conclusion is drawn, 
cannot be granted, either with regard to property, or with regard 
‘to the other branches of justice. 

We endeavoured before to show, that property, though not an 
innate but an acquired right, may be acquired in the state of 
nature, and agreeably to the laws of nature; and that this right 
has not its origin from human laws, made for the public good; 
_ though, when men enter into political society, it may, and ought 
to be regulated by those laws. 4 

If there were but two men upon the face of the earth, of 
ripe faculties, each might have his own property, and might 
know his right to defend it, and his obligation not to invade the 
property of the other. He would have no need to have recourse 
to reasoning from public good, in order to know when he was 


284 ESSAY V. 


injured, either in his property, or in any of his natural rights, 
or to know what rules of justice he ought to observe eal 
neighbour. . . tela MRA 5 hgh OE 
_ The simple rule of not doing to his neighbour what he would 
think wrong to be done to himself, would lead him to the know- 
ledge of every branch of justice, without the consideration of 
public good, or of laws and statutes made to promote it. 
It is not true, therefore, that public utility apt dl ndard 
of justice, and that the rules of justice can be deduced only om 
their public utility. AY Ma 
Aristides, and the people of Athens, had surely another no- 
tion of justice, when he pronounced the counsel of Themisto- 
cles, which was communicated to him only, to be highly useful, 
but unjust; and the assembly, upon this authority, rejected the 
proposal unheard. These honest citizens, though subject te no 
laws but of their own making, far from making utility the stand+ 
ard of justice, made justice to be the standard of utility. hap 
“« What is a man’s property ? Any thing which itis lawful for 
him, and for him alone, to use. But what rule have we by which 
we can distinguish these objects ? Here we must have recourse 
to statutes, customs, precedents, analogies, &e.” = 
Does not this imply, that, in the state of nature, there can be 
no distinction of property? If so, Mr. Hume’sstate of nature is 
the same with that of Mr. Hobbes. MSIE PA 4 
It is true, that, when men become members of a political so- 
ciety, they subject their property, as well as themselves, to the 
laws, and must either acquiesce, in what the laws determine, or 
leave the society. But justice, and even that particular branch 
of it which our author always supposes to be the whole, is ante: 
cedent to political societies and to their laws ; and the intention 
of these laws is, to be the guardians of justice, and to redress in- 
uries. : Wade 
é As all the works of men are imperfect, human laws may be 
unjust ; which could never be, if justice had its origin from law, 
as the author seems’ here to insinuate. SOF lary be 
Justice requires, that a member of state should submit to the 
laws of the state, when they require nothing unjust or impious, 
There may, therefore, be statutory rights and statutory crimes. 
A statute may create a right which did not before exist, or make 
that to be criminal which was not so before. But this could ne- 
ver be, if there were not an antecedent obligation upon the sub- 
jects to obey the statutes. In like manner, the command of 4 
master may make that to be the servant’s duty, which before was 
not his duty, and the servant may be chargeable with injustice 
if he disobeys, because he was under an antecedent obligat 
obey his masterin lawful things. : $e 
We grant, therefore, that particular laws may direct justice and 
determine property,and sometimes even upon yery slight reasons 


QF JUSTICE. 285 


and analogies, or even for no other reason but that it is better 
that sucha point should be determined by law than that it should 
be left a dubious subject of contention. But this, far from pre- 
senting us with the conclusion which the author would establish, 

resents us with a contrary conclusion. For all these particu- 
lar laws and statutes derive their whole obligation and force 
from a general rule of justice antecedent to them, to wit, that 
subjects ought to obey the laws of their country. 

The author compares the rules of justice with the most frivo- 

lous superstitions, and can find no foundation for moral sentiment 
in the one more than in the other, excepting that justice is re- 
quisite to the well being and existence of society. , 
_ It is very true, that, if we examine mie and thine by the sen- 
ses of sight, smell, or touch ; or scrutinize them by the sciences of 
medicine, chymistry, or physics, we perceive no difference. Butthe 
reason is, that none of these senses or sciences are the judges 
of right or wrong, or can give any conception of them, any more 
than the ear of colour, or the eye of sound. Every man of com- 
mon understanding, and every savage, when he applies his moral 
faculty to those objects, perceives a difference as clearly as he 
perceives daylight. When that sense or faculty is not consult- 
ed, in vain do we consult every other, in a question of right and 
wrong. 

To perceive that justice tends to the good of mankind, would 
lay no moral obligation upon us to be just, unless we be conscious 
of a moral obligation to do what tends to the good of mankind. 
If sucha moral obligation be admitted, why may we not admit a 
stronger obligation to do injury to no man? The last obligation 
is as easily conceived as the first, and there is as clear evidence 
of its existence in human nature. 

The last argument is a dilemma, and is thus expressed: ‘The 
dilemma seems obvious. As justice evidently tends to promote 
public utility, and to support civil society, the sentiment of jus- 
tice is either derived from our reflecting on that tendency, or, 
like hunger, thirst, and other appetites, resentment, love of life, 
attachment to offspring, and other passions, arises from a simple 
original instinct in. the human breast, which nature has implanted 
for like salutary purposes. If the latter be the case, it follows, 
that property, which is the object of justice, is also distinguished 
by a simple original instinct, and is not ascertained by any argu- 
ment or reflection. But who is there that ever heard of such 
an instinct,’”? &c. 

I doubt not but Mr. Hume has heard of a principle called 
conscience, which nature has implanted in the human breast. 
Whether he will call it a simple original instinct, I know not, as 
he gives that name to all our appetites, and to all our passions. 
From this principle, I think, we derive the sentiment of justice. 

VOL. IL. By Ager 


286 ESSAY Y- 

_ Asthe eyenot only gives us the conception of colours, but makes 
us ‘perceive one body to have one colo Gali th er body Fin 
the conce tion of 


other; and as our reason not only gives us _ 
true and false ; but makes us perceive one prope 


and another to be false; so our conscience, or moral faculty, 
not only gives us the conception of honest and dishon est, but 
makes us perceive one kind of conduct to be hon est, an- 


other to be dishonest. By this faculty we perceive a me 
honest. conduct, and a demerit in dishonest, without reg 
public utility. OES Ee ae lee 
‘That these sentiments are not the effect of education ‘or of 
acquired habits, we have the same reason to conclude, as that 
our perception of what is true and what false, is not the effect 
of education or of acquired habits. There have been men who 
professed to believe, that there is no ground to asse sk y one 
proposition rather than its contrary ; but I never yet heard of a 
man who had the effrontery to profess ere Bet en es bs 
obligation of honour or honesty, of truth or Justice, in his dea’ ngs 
with men. “AE ARUP EE 
Nor does this faculty of conscience require innate i 
property, and of the various ways of acquiring and trans 
or innate ideas of kings and senators, of pretors, an 
and juries, any more than the faculty of seeing requ 
ideas of colours, or than the faculty of reasoning requi s innate 
ideas of cones, cylinders, and spheres. ra | 


lod. t soy. > a7 
oO 13TH On min 

1 3b lewiied 
oo-Hao Oe svatl 


CHAPTER VI. ROO: ere monwoern 


b ¥aR OF Shae scl 


OF THE NATURE AND OBLIGATION OF A CONTRACT. — 


To%t9aq lone 


5 cseememendil 
_— 


_. Some such speculations, | think, we have in the third hee 


r 
pri 
? 
and on two passages of that author on this subject. 

_ 1am far from saying or thinking, that Mr. Hume mea 
weaken men’s obligations to honesty and fair ge ‘that he 
had not a sense of these obligations himself. This: oe a 
Timpeach, but his writings. Let us think of the first’as charita- 


OW IHSMISINS wns & tse” Co merle? 


@F THD NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 287 
bly a can, while we freely examine the import and tenden- 


the last. 

7 altho ough the nature of a contract and of a promise is perfectly 
erstood by all men of common understanding ; yet, by atten- 
aa to the operations of mind signified by these Warde: we shall 
be better enabled to judge of the metaphysical subtilties which 
have been raised about them. A promise and a contract differ 
so little in what concerns the present disquisition, that the same 
reasoning, as Mr. Hume justly observes, extends to both. In 
a promise, one party only comes under the obligation, the other 
acquires a right to the prestation promised. But we give the 
name of a contract to a transaction in which each party comes 
under an obligation to the other, and each reciprocally acquires 

a right to what is promised by the other. 

The Latin word pactum seems to extend to both ; and the de- 
finition given of it in the Civil Law, and borrowed from Ulpian, 
is, Duorum pluriumve in idem placitum consensus. ‘Titius, a mo- 
dern Civilian, has endeavoured to make this’ definition more 
complete, by adding the words Obligationis licité constituende vel 
tollende causa datus. With this addition, the definition is, that a 
contract is the consent of two or more persons in the same thing, 
given with the intention of constituting or dissolving lawfully 
some obligation. 

This definition is perhaps as good as any other that can be 
given ; yet, I believe every man will acknowledge, that it gives 
him no clearer or more distinct notion of a contract than he had 
before. If it is considered as a strictiy logical definition, I be- 
lieve some objections might be made to it ; but I forbear to 
mention them, because | believe that similar objections might 
be made to any definition of a contract that can be given. 

Nor can it be inferred from this, that the notion of a contract 
is not perfectly clear in every man come to years of understand- 
ing. For this is common to many operations of the mind, that 
although we understand them perfectly, and are in no danger of 
confounding them with any thing else; yet we cannot define them 
according to the rules of logic, by a genus and a specific differ- 
ence. And when we attemptit, we rather darken than give light 
to them. 

Is there any thing more distinctly understood by all men, than 
what it is to see, to hear, to remember, to judge? Yet it is the 
most difficult thing in the world to define these operations ac- 
cording to the rules of logical definition. But it is not more 
difficult than it is useless. 

Sometimes philosophers attempt to define them; but if we 

examine their definitions, we shall find, that they amount to no 
more than giving one synonymous word for another, and com- 
monly a worse fora better. So when we define a contract, by 
calling it a consent. a convention, an agreement, what is this ‘pat 


288 ESSAY V. ‘ oe 


givinga synonymous word for it, anda word that isneithermore 
expressive nor better understood ? (WO) Boed cod)! age 
One boy has a top, another a scourge; says the first to the 
other, if you will lend me your scourge as long as” “a A 
up my top with it, you shall next have the topas 
keep it up. Agreed says the other. This pap ro ermal 
fectly understood by both parties, though they never heard) of 
the definition given by Ulpian or by Titius., And each of them 
knows, that he is injured if the other breaks the bargain, and that, . 
he does wrong if he breaks it himself. 1) SRR sap hg 
The operations of the human mind may be divided into two 
classes, the solitary and the social. As promises and contracts — 
belong to the last class, it may be proper to explain this division. — 
I call those operations solitary, which may be performed by a 
man in solitude, without intercourse with: any other intelligent — 
being. Deena oo garth Ae 
Icall those operations social, which noedeomiiin imply social i in- 
tercourse with some other intelligent beleg who bears a part in. 
them. ee Le 
A man may see, and hear, and rdiienibaaalal jud, 
reason ; he may deliberate and form purposes, and execute them, 
without the intervention of any other intelligent being.» They 
are solitary acts. But when he asks a question. for information, — 
when he testifies a fact, when he gives a command to his ser- ~ 
vant, when he makes a promise, or enters into a contract, these — 
are social acts of mind, and can have no existence without the — 
intervention of some other intelligent being, whovacts a part in » 
them. Between the operations of the mind, which,for want. 
of amore proper name, I have called solitary, and those | have — 
called social, there is this very remarkable distinction, that, in the — 
solitary, the expression of therm by werds, or any other sensible . 
sign, is accidental. They may exist, and be complete, without 
being expressed, without being known to any other person. 
But, in the social operations, the expression is essential. . They 
cannot exist without being expressed by words or signs, and 
known to the other party. it ene oogilay Oo) 
If nature had not made man capable of such social operations 
of mind, and furnished bim with a language to express them, he » 
might think, and reason, and deliberate, and will;/he might. 
have desires and aversions, joy and sorrow; ina word, he might © 
exertall those operations of mind, which the writers in logic and © 
pneumatology have so copiously described ; but, \at the same — 
time, he would still be a solitary being, even, ‘when in a crowd's 
it would be impossible for him to pat a question, or give a com- 
mand, to ask a owen or testify a fart, to make a promise or a 
bargains Nerere yy tee 
I take’ it to he the common Sint of » philosophers, that the» 
social operations of the human mind are not specifically different » 


a 


OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 289 


from the solitary, and that they are only various modifications or 
compositions of our solitary operations, and may be resolved 
into them. 

. Itisfor this reason, probably, that, in enumerating the opera- 
tions of the mind, the solitary only are mentioned, and no notice 
at all taken of the social, though they are familiar to every man, 
and have names in all languages. 

l apprehend, however, it will be found extremely difficult, if 
not impossible, to resolve our social operations into any modifi- 
cation or composition of the solitary : and that an attempt to do 
this, would prove as ineffectual, as the attempts that have been 
made to resolve all our social affections into the selfish. The 
social operations appear-to be as simple in their nature as the 
solitary.. They are found in every individual of the species, 
even before the use of reason. 

The power which man has of holding social intercourse with 
his kind, by asking and refusing, threatening and supplicatng, 
commanding and obeying, testifying and promising, must either 
be a distinct faculty given by our Maker, and a part of our con- 
stitution, like the powers of seeing and hearing, or it must be a 
human invention. If men have invented this art of social inter- 
course, it must follow, that every individual of the species must 
have invented it for himself. It cannot be taught, for though, 
when once carried to a certain pitch, ii may be improved by 
teaching ; yet it is impossible it can begin in that way, because 
all teaching supposes a social intercourse and language already 
established between the teacher and the learner. This inter- 
course must, from the very first, be carried on by sensible signs ; 
for the thoughts of other men can be discovered in no other way. 
I think it is likewise evident, that this intercourse, in its begin- 
ning at least, must be carried on by natural signs, whose mean- 
ing is understood by both parties, previous to all compact or 
agreement. For there can be no compact without signs, nor 
without social intercourse. : 

apprehend, therefore, that the social intercourse of man- 
kind, consisting of those social operations which I have men- 
tioned, is the exercise of a faculty appropriated to that purpose, 
whichis the gift of God, no less than the powers of seeing and 
hearing. And that, in order to carry oa this intercourse, God 
has given to man a natural language, by which his social opera- 
tions are expressed, and, without which, the artiticial languages 
of articuiate sounds, and of writing, could never have been in- 
vented by human art. 

The signs in this natural language are looks, changes of the 
features, modulations of the voice, and gestures of the body. 
All men understand this language without instruction, and ail 
men can use it in some degree. But they are most expert in it 
who use it most. It makes a great part of the language of sava- 


290 ae ¥. 


1d shears 
ges, and therefore they are more expert im the use of natural 
signs than the civilized. toh en apa SiS 
The language of dumb persons is mostly form yor ig 
signs ; and they are all great adepts in this nature. 


_ Allthat we call action and pronunciation, ane 
orator, and the most admired actor, is nothing else but superad- 
ding the language of nature to the language of pyres a ae 
The pantomimes among the Romans carried it to 
pitch of perfection. For they could act parts of, oui ae 
tragedies in dumb show, so as to be understood, not only by those 
who were accustomed to this entertainment, but by all the stran- 
gers that came to Rome, from all the corners of the earth. 
For it may be observed of this natural language, and nothing 
more clearly demunstrates it to be a part of the 
tution, that although it requires practice and) study, to enable a 
man to express his sentiments by it in the most perfect mat 
yet it requires neither study nor practice in the spectator to.un- 
derstand it. The knowledge of it was before latentin the mind, 
and we no sooner see it, than we immediately recognize it, as 
we do an acquaintance whom we had long forgot, and could not 
have described; but no sooner do we see him, Aonans know for 
certain that he is the very man. iden 4o .vibin 
This knowledge, in all mankind, of the natural Hiewatonar 
thoughts and sentiments, is wadeuik so like to reminisce 
it seems to have led Plato to conceive all human know 
be of that kind. ovavad wearer 1 ar 
It is not by reasoning, that all mankind know, that an open 
countenance, and a placid eye, is a sign of amity ; that a con- 
tracted brow, and a fierce look, is the sign of anger. It is not 
from reason that we learn to know the. signs of con- 
senting and refusing, of affirming and denying, of threatening 
and supplicating. ter bight! Selene 
No man can perceive any necessary connexion between 
signs of such operations, and the things signified by them. But 
we are so formed by the Author of our nature, that the opera- 
tions themselves become visible, as it were, by _ their natural 
signs. This knowledge resembles reminiscence, in this respect, 
that it is immediate. We form the conclusion with great, assu- 
rance, without knowing any. premisses from which it may be 
drawn by reasoning. dt oF S9:0¥eu Yo 
It would lead us too far from the intention of the present 
quiry, to consider more particluarly, in what degree the. 1 


intercourse is natural, and a part of our ie 5 it 
is of human invention. s bas wa fae 
It is sufficient to observe, that this sib PCOlfae of n mind 


by which their thoughts and sentiments are, rr 
their souls mingle together, as it. were, is common to ahewhale 
species from infancy. 


OP THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 291 


Like our other powers, its first beginnings are weak, and 
scarcely perceptible. Butit isa certain fact, that’we can per- 
ceive some communication of sentiments between the nurse and 
her nursling, before it is a month old. And I doubt not, but that, 
if both had grown out of the earth, and had never seen another 
human face, they would be able in a few years to converse 
together. ; 

- There appears indeed to be some degree of social intercourse 
among brute ‘animals, and between some of them and man. A 
dog exults in the caresses of his master, and is humbled at his 
displeasure. But there are two operations of the social kind, of 
which the brute animals seem to be altogether incapable. They 
can neither plight their veracity by testimony nor their fidelity 
by any engagement or promise. If nature had made them 
capable of these operations, they would have’ had a language 
to express them by, as man has: but of this we see no ap- 
pearance. " 

A foxis said to use stratagems, but he cannot lie ; because he 
cannot give his testimony, or plight his veracity. A dog is said 
to be faithful 'to his master ; but no more is meant but that he is 
affectionate, for he never came under any engagement. Isee no 
evidence that any brute animal is capable of either giving testi- 
mony, or making a promise. 

A dumb man cannot speak any more than a fox ora dog; but 
he can give his testimony by signs as early in life as other men 
can do by words. He knows whata lie is as early as other men, 
and hates it as much. He can plight his faith, and is sensible of 
the obligation of a promise or contract. 

It is therefore a prerogative of man, that he can communicate 
his knowledge of facts by testimony, and enter into engagements 
by promise or contract. God has given him these powers by a 
part of his constitution, which distinguishes him from all brute 
animals. And whether they are original powers, or resolvable 
into other original powers, it is evident that they spring up in the 
human mind at an early period of life, and are found in every in- 
dividual of the species, whether savage or civilized. 
 'These prerogative powers of man, like all his other powers, 
must be given for some end, and for a good end. And if we 
consider a little further the economy of nature, in relation to this 
part of the human constitution, we shall perceive the wisdom 
of nature in the structure of it, and discover clearly our duty 
in consequence of it. ha 

It is evident, in the first place, that if no credit was given to 
testimony, if there was no reliance upon promises, they would 
answer no end at all, not even that of deceiving. 

“2dly, Supposing men disposed by some principle in their na- 
ture to rely on detlarations and promises, yet if men found in 
experience, that there was no fidelity on the other part in 


292 ESSAY V. 


making and in keeping them, no man o corm on tele anding 


would trust to them and so they would becon e useless. 

Hence it appears, 3dly, that this power 0 iV vo testim On, 
and of promising, can answer no end in socie y> mn ad ms 
be a considerable degree, both of fidelit ty, on thee pa 


of trust on the other. These two must Aaa ‘oget 
and one of them cannot possibly subsist without t he o Rene ; 
_ Athly, It may be observed, that fidelity i ec 01 
promises, and its counterpart, trust and relia hen 
form a system of social intercourse, the mee te dace ‘the 
useful, that can be among men. Without fidelity a an raster 
can be no human society. There never was i soc cie peat 
savages, nay, even of robbers or pirates, i in hs there | me 
a great degree of veracity and of fidelity” fk 
Without it, man would be the most unsocial ‘soimal ‘ 
has made. His state would be in reality what | Holts be 
ed the state of nature to be, a state of war, of every 
against every man; nor could this war ever terminate ae oe, 
lt may be observed, in the fifth place, that man is’ evi lently 
made for living in society. His social affections show as 
evidently, as that the eye was made for seeing. His ge 
rations, particularly those of testifying and itil » m 
no less evident. ‘ te i 
From these observations it follows, that if no ae s 
made by nature, to engage men to fidelity in ahaa 
promises, human nature would bea contradiction to its 2 
for an end, yet without the necessary means of attaini 
if the species had been furnished with good eyes, SP with ut 
the power of opening their eyelids. There are no pit : Lat 
this kind in the works of God. Wherever is a sate 
tended, the means are admirably fitted for the attai Hen fi it; 
and so we find it to be in the case before us. i . ‘ 
For we see that children, as soon as they are cap 
derstanding declarations and promises, are “ee me es ne 


ees 7 


of — 


effect of theit constitution. ago) 109 eh 
So that the things essential to human society splnaa Y an goo 
faith on the one part, and trust on the other, are fora 2 by 
nature in the minds of children, before they are able yf 
knowing their utility, or being influenced by coe 
of duty or interest. Hoh ve 
When we grow up so far as to have the coh cep enti i a rig 
and a wrong in conduct, the turpitude of lying, fa Pree 


@F THE NATURE OF CONTRACT. 2393 


dishonesty, is discerned, not by any train of reasoning, but by 
an immediate perception. For we see that every man disap- 
proves it in others, even those who are conscious of it in them-~ 
selves. . 

_ Every man thinks himself injured and ill used, and feels re- 
sentment, when he is imposed upon by it. Every man takes it 
as a reproach when falsehood is imputed to him. These are 
the clearest evidences, that all men disapprove of falsehood, 
when their judgment is not biassed. 

I know of no evidence that has been given of any nation so 
tude, as not to have these sentiments. Jt is certain that dumb 
people have them, and discover them about the same period of 
life, in which they appear in those who speak. And it may rea- 
sonably be thought, that dumb persons, at that time of life, have 
had as little advantage, with regard to morals, from their edu- 
cation, as the greatest savages. 

Every man come to years of reflection, when he pledges his 
veracity or fidelity, thinks he has a right to be credited, and is 
affronted if he is not. But there cannot be a shadow of right 
to be credited, unless there be an obligation to good faith. For 
right on one hand, necessarily implies obligation on the other. 

When we see that in the most savage state, that ever was 
known of the human race, men have always lived in societies, 
greater or less, this of itself is a proof from fact, that they have 
had that sense of their obligation to fidelity, without which ne 
human society can subsist. 

’ From these observations, I think, it appears very evident, that 
as fidelity on one part, and trust on the other, are essential te 
that intercourse of men, which we call human society ; so the 
Author of our nature has made wise provision for perpetuating 
them among men, in that degree that is necessary to human 
society, in all the different periods of human life, and in all the 
stages of human improvement and degeneracy. 

In early years, we have an innate disposition to them. In riper 
years, we feel our obligation to fidelity as much as to any moral 
duty whatsoever. 

Nor is it necessary to mention the collateral inducements te 
this virtue, from considerations of prudence, which are obvious 
to every man thatreflects. Such as, that it creates trust, the 
most effectual engine of human power ; that it requires no arti- 
fice or concealment; dreads no detection ; that it inspires cou- 
rage and magnanimity, and is the natural ally of every virtue ; 
so that there is no virtue whatsoever, to which our natural obli- 
gation appears more strong or more apparent. 

An observation or two, with regard to the nature of a con- 
tract, will be sufficient for the present purpose. 

It is obvious that the prestation promised must be understood 
by both parties. One party engages to do such a thing, another 

VOL. Ul. 38 


294 ESSAY Ve 


accepts of this engagement. An engagement to do, one'does 
not’ know what, can neither be made nor accepted. It is noless 
obyious, that a contract is a voluntary transactior 
But it ought to be observed, that the will, h is e: 
to a contract, is only a will to engage, or to become bound. We 
must beware of confounding this will, with a will ta | rm 
what we have engaged. The last can signify nothing else than 
an intention and fixed purpose to do what we have engaged to 
do. The will to become bound, and to confer ye be 
other party, is indeed the very essence of a*¢ontract ; but the 
purpose of fulfilling our engagement, is no part of the contract 
at all. 7 Rha pap anton, 
A purpose is a solitary act of mind, which lays no obligation 
on the person, nor confers any right on another. ~A’ fraudulent 
person may contract with a fixed purpose of not performing his 
engagement. But this purpose makes no change with regard to 
his obligation. He is as much bound as the honest man, who 
contracts with a fixed purpose of performing. © = 9) 
As the contract is binding, without any regard to the purpose, 
so there may be a purpose without any contract. A purpose is 
no contract, even when it is declared to the person for whose 
benefit it is intended. JI may say to a man, | intend to do such 
a thing for your benefit, but I come under no engagement. 
Every man understands the meaning of this speech, and sees no 
contradiction in it: whereas, if a purpose declared were the 
same thing with a contract, such a speech would be a contradic- 
tion, and would be the same as if one should say, I promise to 
do such a thing, but Ido not promise. 0 nie anesthe ait 
All this is so plain to every man of common sense, that it 
would have been unnecessary to be mentioned, had notso acute 
a man as Mr. Hume grounded some of the contradictions he 
finds in a contract, upon confounding a will to engage in acontract 
with a will or purpose to perform the engagement. =) |” 
I come now to consider the speculations of that author with 
regard to contracts. HS poe ye Smale 
In order to support a favourite notion of his own, dans 
is not a natural, but an artificial virtue, and that it derives its 
whole merit from its utility, he has laid down some principles 
which, I think, have a tendency to subvert all faith and fair 
dealing among mankind. et }odenihar em 
_ in the third volume of the Treatise of Human Nature, p. 40. 
he lays it down as an undoubted maxim, that no action can be 
virtuous or morally good, unless there be, in human nature, some 
motive to produce it, distinct from its morality. Let us apply 
this undoubted maxim in an instance or'two. {fama 
his word, from this sole motive, that he ought to do so, this is no 
virtuous or morally good action. Ifa man pays his debt, from 
this motive, that justice requires this of him, this is no virtuous 


ON THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 295 


er morally good action. Ifa judge or an arbiter gives a sen- 
tence in a cause, from no other motive but regard to justice, 
this is no virtuous or morally good action. These appear to me 
to be shocking absurdities, which no metaphysical subtilty can 
ever justify. 

» Nothing is more evident than that every human action takes 
its denomination and its moral nature from the motive from 
which it is performed. Thatis a benevolent action, which is 
done from benevolence. Thatis an act of gratitude, which is 
done froma sentiment of gratitude. That is an act of obedience 
to God, which is done from a regard to hiscommand. And, in 
general, that is an act of virtue which is done from a regard to 
virtue. 

Virtuous actions are so far from needing other motives, besides 

their being virtuous, to give them merit, that their merit is then 
greatest and most conspicuous, when every motive that can be 
pat in the opposite scale is outweighed by the sole consideration 
of their being our duty. 
» This maxim, therefore, of Mr, Hume, that no action can be 
virtuous or morally good, unless there be some motive to produce 
it, distinct from its morality, is so far from, being undoubtedly 
true, that itis undoubtedly false. it was never, so far as I know, 
maintained by any mioralist, but by the Epicureans; and it 
savours of the very dregs of that sect. It agrees well with the 
principles of those who maintained, that virtue is aa empty 
name, and that it is.entitled to no regard, but in as far as it 
ministers to pleasure or profit. 

I believe the author of this maxim acted upon better moral 
principles than he wrote ; and that what Cicero says of Epicu- 
rus, may be applied to him: Redarguitur ipse a sese, vincunturque 
scripta ejus probitate ypsius et moribus, et ut alii existimantur dicere 
melius quam facere, sic ille mihi videtur facere melius quam dicere. 

But let as see how he applies this maxim tocontracts. I give 
you his words from the place formerly cited. ‘1 suppose,” 
says he, “a person to have lent me a sum of money, on condi- 
tion that it be restored in a few days; and, after the expiration 
of the term agreed on, he demands the sum. I ask, what reason 
or motive have I to restore the money? It will perbaps be said, 
that my regard to justice and abhorrence of villany and knavery, 
are sufficient reasons for me, if I have the least grain of honesty, 
or sense of duty and obligation. And this answer no doubt is 
just and satisfactory to man in his civilized state, and when 
trained up according to acertain discipline andeducation. Bat, 
in his rude and more natural condition, if you are pleased to call 
such a condition natural, this answer would be rejected as 
perfectly unintelligible and sophistical.”’ 

| The doctrine we are taught in this passage is this, that though 
a man, in a civilized state, and when trained up according to a 


296 ESSAY Vs 


certain discipline and education, may havea regard to justicé, 
and an abhorrence of villany and knavery, and some sense of 
duty and obligation ; yet to a man, inhis rude.and more natural 
condition, the considerations of honesty, justice, duty, and. obli- 
gation, will be perfectly unintelligible and sophistical. And 
this is brought as an argument to show, that Justice is not a 
natural, but an artificial virtue. veo dp tertiy kaeeioorti 

I shall offer some observations on this argument... 4 ¢00 © 

ist, Although it may be true, that. what is, unintelligible to 
man in his rude state may be intelligible to him in his civilized 
state, I cannot conceive, that what is sophistical in the rude state 
should change its nalune, and become just, reasoning, when man 
is more improved. _ What is a sophism, will always be so ;_nor 
can any change in the state of the person who, jada ealan it 
to be just reasoning which before was. sophistical. . Mr. Hume’s 
argument requires, that to man in his rude state, the motives to 
justice and honesty should not only appear to be sophistical, 
but should really beso. If the motives were just in themselves, 
then justice would be a natural virtue, although the rude man, 
by an error of his judgment, thought otherwise. But if justice 
be not a natural virtue, which is the point Mr. Hume intends to 
prove, then every argument, by which man. in_his natural state 
may be urged to it, must be a sophism in reality, and. not, in 
appearance only ; and the effect of discipline and education in 
the civilized state can only be to make those motives to justice 
appear just and satisfactory, which, in their own en 
sophistical. i j doad 

Qdly, It were to be wished, that this ingenious ibaa had 
shown us, why that state of man, in which the obligation to 
honesty, and an abhorrence of villany, appear perfectly unin- 
telligible and sophistical, should be his. more natural state. 

It is the nature of human society to be progressive, as much 
as itis the nature of the individual. In the indiyidual, the state 
of infancy leads to that of childhood, childhood to. youth, youth 
to manhood, and manhood to old age. _ If one should say, that 
the state of infancy i is a more natural state than that of manhood 
or of old age, I am apt to think, that this would be words with- 
out any meaning. In like manner, in human society, there isa 
natural progress from rudeness to civilization, from ignorance to 
knowledge. What period of this progress shall we call man’s 
natural state ? To me they appear all equally natural... Every 
state of society is equally natural wherein men have access to 
exert their natural powers about their proper objects, and to 
improve those powers by the means which their situation 

Mr. Hume, indeed, shows some timidity in affirming the rude 
state to be the more masons, state of man; and, therefore, adds 
this qualifying parenthesis, Jf you are pleased fe) auld seycien con- 


dition natural. 907 


OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT, 297 


» But it ought to be observed, that if the premisses of his argu- 
ment be*weakened by this clause, the same weakness must be 
communicated to the conclusion; and the conclusion, accord- 
ing tothe rules of good reasoning, ought to be, that justice is an 
artificial virtue, if you be pleased to call it artificial. 

» 8dly, It were likewise to be wished, that Mr. Hume had shown 
from fact, that there ever did exist such a state of man as that 
which he calls his more natural state. It isa state wherein a 
man borrows asum of money, on the condition that he is to re- 
store it ina few days; yet when the time of payment comes, his 
obligation to repay what he borrowed is perfectly unintelligible 
and:sophistical. It would have been proper to have given at 
least'asingle instance of some tribe of the human race that 
was found to be in this natural state. If no such instance can 
be:given, it is probably a state merely imaginary ; like that state, 
which some have imagined, wherein men were Ourang Outangs, 
or wherein they were fishes with tails. ; 

» Indeed; such a state seems impossible. ‘That a man should 
lend without any conception of his having a right to be repaid ; 
or that a man should borrow on the condition of paying ina 
few days, and yet have no conception of his obligation, seems to 
me to involve a contradiction. 

I grant, that a humane man may lend without any expectation 
of being repaid ; but that he should lend without any concep- 
tion of a right to be repaid, isa contradiction. Jn like manner, 
a fraudulent man may borrow without an intention of paying 
back ; but that he should borrow, while an obligation to repay 
is perfectly unintelligible to him, this 1s a contradiction. 

The same author, in his Inquiry into the Principles of Morals, 
sect. 3. treating of the same subject, has the following note : 

“ Tis evident, that the will or consent alone never transfers 
property, nor causes the obligation of a promise, (for the same 
reasoning extends to both) but the will must be expressed by 
words or signs, in order to impose a tie upon any man. The 
expression being once brought in as subservient to the will, soon 
becomes the principal part of the promise; nor will a man be 
less bound by his word, though he secretly give a different direc- 
tion to his intention, and withhold the assent of his mind. But 
though the expression makes, on most occasions, the whole of 
the: promise; yet it does not always so; and one who should 
make use of any expression, of which he knows not the mean- 
ing, and which he ‘uses without any sense of the consequences, 
would not certainly be bound by it. Nay, though he know its 
meaning; yet if he uses it in jest only, and with such signs as 
show evidently he has no serious intention of binding himself, 
he)would not be under'any obligation of performance ; butitis 
. Recessary that the words be a perfect expression of the will, 
without any contrary signs. Nay, even this we must not carry 


298 ESSAY Y- 


so far as toimagine, that one whom, from, our quickness of un- 
derstanding, we conjecture to have an intention of deceiving us, 
is not bound by his expression or verbal promises if we acceptof 
it, but must limit this conclusion to those ate Aulaeates signs 
are of a different nature from those of deceit. 
dictions are easily accounted for, if justice Bipepe 
its usefulness to society, but will never. be pa li 
other hypothesis.”’ n> icnimeedesilalos 
Here we have the opinion of this grave moralist. 
metaphysician, that the principles of honesty and. fidelity are at 
bottom a bundle of contradictions. This is one part of his 
moral system which, | cannot help thinking, hordorenpaniane 
tiousness. It surely tends to give a very unfavourable noti 
that cardinal virtue, without which no man has a title to be 
ed an honest man. What regard can a. man pay to the vir- 
tue of fidelity, who believes that its essential rules contradict 
each other? Can a man be bound by contradictory rules of 
conduct? No more, surely, than he can be bound to believe 
contradictory principles. Uy Kaen 
He tells us, “* That all these contradictions are easily ac- 
counted for, if justice arises entirely from. its eng na 
ciety, but will never be explained upon any 
thesis.”’ Ki ag aD 
I know not indeed what is meant by accounting for contra- 
dictions, or explaining them. | apprehend, that. no hypothesis 
can make that which is a contradiction to be no contradiction. 
However, without attempting to account for these contradictions 
upon his own hypothesis, he pronounces, ima decisive tone, that 
they will never be explained upon any. other hypothesis. 
What if it shall appear, that the contradictions mentioned in 
this paragraph, do all take their rise from two capital mistakes 
the author has made with regard to the nature of promises and 
contracts ; and if, when these are corrected, there shall not ap 
pear a shadow of contradiction in the cases put by him?» > 
The first mistake is, that a promise is some kind of will, con= 
sent, or intention, which may be expressed, or may not be ex« 
pressed. This is to mistake the nature of a promise; for no 
will, no consent or intention that is not expressed, is a promises 
A promise, being a social transaction between two saletihe 
out being expressed, can have no existence. 24 aE eo 
Another capital mistake that runs through the passage cited 
is, that this will, consent, or intention, which makes a promise, 
is a will intention to perform what we promise. Every.man 
knows that there may be a fraudulent promise, made without in- 
tention of performing. Butthe intention to perform a 
or not to perform it, whether-the mtention be known to the 
ather party or not, makes no part of the promise, it is 2 solitary: 
act of the mind, and can neither constitute nor dissolve arm 


OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 299 


obligation. What makes a promise is, that it be expressed to the 
other party with understanding, and with an intention to become 
bound, and that it be accepted by him. 

» @arrying these remarks along with us, let us review the pas- 
sage cited. 

' 1st, He observes, that the will or consent alone does not cause 
the obligation of a promise, but it must be expressed. 

I answer: the will not expressed is not a promise ; and is it 
a contradiction, that that which is not a promise should not cause 
the obligation of a promise? He goes on: the expression being 
once brought in as subservient to the will, soon becomes a prin- 
eipal part of the promise. Here it is supposed, that the expres- 
sion was not originally a constituent part of the promise, but it 
soon becomes such. It is brought in to aid and be subservient 
to the promise which was made before by the will. If Mr. 
Hume had considered, that it is the expression accompanied 
with understanding and will to become bound, that constitutes a 
promise, he would never have said, that the expression soon be- 
comes a part, and is brought in as subservient. 

‘He adds, nor will a man be less bound by his word, though he 
secretly gives a different direction to his intention, and withholds 
the assent of his minds 

The case here put, needs some explication. Either it means 
that the man knowingly and voluntarily gives his word, without 
any intention of giving his word, or that he gives it without the 
intention of keeping it, and performing what he promises. The 
last of these is indeed a possible case, and is, lapprehend, what 
Mr. Hume means. But the intention of keeping his promise is 
no part of the promise, nor does it in the least affect the obli- 

ation of it, as we have often observed. 

If the author meant that the man may knowingly and volun- 
tatily give his word, without the intention of giving his word, 
this is impossible; for such is the nature of all social acts of 
the mind, that, as they cannot be, without being expressed, so 
they cannot be expressed knowingly and willingly, but they must 
be. If a man puts a question knowingly and willingly, it is 
impossible that he should at the same time will noi to put it. 
If he gives a command knowingly and willingly, it is impossible 
that he should at the same time will not to give it. We cannot 
have contrary wills at the same time. And, in like manner, if 
a man knowingly and willingly becomes bound by a promise, 
it is impossible that he should at the same time will not to be 
bound. 

To suppose, therefore, that when a man knowingly and will- 
ingly gives his word, he withholds that will and intention which 
makes a promise, is indeed a contradiction ; but the contradic- 
tion isnot in the nature of the promise, but in the case supposed 
by Mr. Hume. 


30Q ; ESSAY V. 


He adds, though the expression, for the most part, makes 
the whole of the promise, it does not always so. 

I answer, that the expression, if it is not accompanied with 
understanding, and will to engage, never makes a promise. The 
author here assumes a postulate, which nobody ever granted, 
and which can only be grounded on the impossible supposition 
made in the former sentence. And as there can be no promise 
without knowledge, and will to engage, is it marvellous that 
words which are not understood, or words spoken in jest, and 
without any intention to become bound, should not have the 
effect of a promise ? eUtiee 

The last case put by Mr. Hume, is that of a man who promises 
fraudulently with an intention not to perform, and whose fraudu- 
lent intention is discovered by the other party, who, notwith- 
standing, accepts the promise. He is bound, says Mr. Hume, 
by his verbal promise. Undoubtedly he is bound, because an 
intention not to perform the promise, whether known to the 
other party or not, makes no part of the promise, nor affects its’ 
obligation, as has been repeatedly observed. j dey 

From what has been said, J think it evident, that to one who 
attends to the nature of a promise or contract, there is not the 
least appearance of contradiction in the principles of morality: 
relating to contracts. me ee Se 

It would indeed appear wonderful, that such a man as Mrv 
Hume should have imposed upon himself in so plain a matter,’ 
if we did not see frequent instances of ingeniousmen, whose 
zeal in supporting a favourite hypothesis, darkens their under-’ 
standing, and hinders them from seeing what is before their eyes» 

a7 5 Yes Oe ele 
: DP Bid AvhQ : 


tee ae 


1fhMids 


stir wen tS 
AT CHAPTER VII. 
gibt: 
» THAT MORAL APPROBATION IMPLIES A REAL JUDGMENT. 


THE approbation of good actions, and disapprobation of 
bad, are so familiar to every man come to years of understanding, 
that it seems strange there should be any dispute about their 
nature. 

Whether we reflect, upon our own conduct, or attend to the 
conduct of others with whom we live, or of whom we hear,or > 
read, we cannot help approving of some things, dissapproving 
of others, and regarding many with perfect indifference. 

These operations of our minds, we are conscious of every 
day, and almost every hour we live. Men of ripe understand- 
ing are capable of, reflecting upon them, and, of attending to 
what passes in their own thoughts on such occasions ; yet, for 

half.a century, it has been a serious dispute among philosophers, 
what this approbation and disapprobation is, whether there be 
a, real judgment included in it, which, like all other judgments, 
must be true or false; or, whether it include no more but 
some agreeable or uneasy feeling, in the person who approves 
or disapproves. 

Mr. Hume. observes very justly, that this is a controversy 
started of late. Before the modern system of ideas and impres- 
sions was introduced, nothing would have appeared more absurd 
than to say, that when I condemn a man for what he has done, 
I pass no judgment at all about the man, but only express some 
uneasy feeling in myself. 

Nor did the new system produce this discovery at once, but 
gradually, by several steps, according as its consequences were 
more accurately traced, and its spirit mere thoroughly imbibed 
by successive philosophers. 

Des Cartes and Mr. Locke went no further than to mainiain, 
that the secondary qualities of body, heat and cold, sound, colour, 
taste, and smell, which we perceive and judge to be in the ex- 
ternal object, are mere feelings or sensations in our minds, there 
being nothing in bodies themselves to which these names can 
be applied ; and that the office of the external senses is not to 
judge of external things, but only to give us ideas or sensations, 
from which we are by reasoning to deduce the existence of a 
material world without us, as well as we can. 

Arthur Collier and bishop Berkeley discovered, from the same 
principles, that the primary, as well as the secondary qualities 

of bodies, such as extension, figure, solidity, motion, are only 

VOL. IIt. 39 


302 ESSAY V> 


sensations in our minds; and therefore, that there is no material 
world without us at all. 

The same philosophy, when it came to be applied matters 
of taste, discovered that beauty and deformity are ve thing 
in the objects, to which men, from the beginning of the world, 
ascribed them, but certain feelings i in the mind of thes re 

The next step was an easy consequence from all | the preceding, 
that moral approbation and disapprobation are not judgments, 
which must be true or false, but barely, nereenhie and eat 
feelings or sensations. a 

Mr. Hume made the last step in this progress, and crowned 
the system by what he calls his hypothesis; to wit, ‘that belief 
is more properly an act of the sensitive, than of. ‘the RPDENARE 
part of our nature. 

Beyond this, I think no man can go in this trek § sensation or 
feeling is all, and what is left to the cogitative Perye of our nature, 
Fam not able to comprehend. aa 

I have had occasion to consider each of these paradoxes, 
excepting that which relates to morals, in Essays on the Intellec- 
tual Powers of Man; and, though they be strictly connected with 
each other, and with the system which has produced them, / 
have attempted to show, that,they are inconsistent. with just 
notions of our intellectual powers, no less than they are with 
the common sense and common language of mankind. And t 
1 think, will likewise appear with regard to the conclusion | re- 
lating to morals ; ; viz. That moral approbation is one an agree- 
able feeling, and not a real judgment. 

To prevent ambiguity as much as possible, let us attend tothe 
meaning of feeling and of judgment. ‘These operations. of the 
mind, perbaps, cannot be logically defined; but they are well 
understood, and easily distinguished, by. their ei pate ib 
adjuncts. 

Feeling, or sensation, seems to be the lowest degree of. anima- 
tion we can conceive. We give the name of anunal to every 
being that feels pain or pleasure ; and this seems to be the bound- 
ary between the inanimate and animal creation. sai 

We know no being of so low a rank in the creation of God, 
as to possess this animal power only without any other. ve 

We commonly distinguish feeling from thinking, because it 
hardly deserves the name; and though it be ina more general 
sense, a species of thought, is least removed from the PAINS: and 
inert state of things inanimate. 

A feeling must be agreeable, or uneasy, or indifferent. it 
may be weak or strong. [It is expressed in language either by a 
single word, or by such a contexture of words as may be the 
subject or predicate of a proposition, but such as cannot by 
themselves make a proposition. For it implies neither affir- 


APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 303 


mation nor negation; and therefore cannot have the qualities 
of true or false, which distinguish propositions from all other 
forms of speech, and judgments from all other acts of the mind. 

That I have such a feeling, is indeed an affirmative proposition 
and expresses testimony grounded upon an intuitive judgment. 
Bui the feeling is only one term of this proposition ; and it can 
only make a proposition when joined with another term, by a 
yerb affirming or denying. 

As feeling distinguishes the animal nature from the inanimate ; 
so judging seems to distinguish the rational nature from the 
merely animal. 

Though judgment in general is expressed by one word in lan- 
guage, as the most complex operations of the mind may be ; yet 
a particular judgment can only be expressed by a sentence, and 
by that kind of sentence which logicians call a proposition, in 
which there must necessarily be a verb in the indicative mode, 
either expressed or understood. 

Every judgment must necessarily be true or false, and the same 
may be said of the proposition which expresses it. It is a de- 
termination of the understanding with regard to what is true, or 
false, or dubious. 

In judgment, we can distinguish the object about which we 
judge, from the act of the mind in judging of that object. In mere 
feeling there is no such distinction. ‘The object of judgment 
must be expressed by a proposition; and belief, disbelief, or 
doubt, always accompanies the judgment we form. If we judge 
the proposition to be true, we must believe it; if we judge it to 
be false. we must disbelieve it ; and if we be uncertain whether 
it be true or false, we must doubt. 

The toothach, the headach, are words which express uneasy 
feelings; but to say that they express a judgment would be 
ridiculous. 

That the sun is greater than the earth, is a proposition, and 
therefore the object of judgment ; and when affirmed or denied, - 
believed or disbelieved, or doubted, it expresses judgment, but 
to say that it expresses only a feeling in the mind of him that 
believes it, would be ridiculous. " 

These two operations of mind, when we consider them sepa- 
rately, are very different, and easily distinguished. When we 
feel without judging or judge without feeling, it is impossible, 
without very gross inattention, to mistake the one for the other. 

But in many operations of the mind, both are inseparably con- 
joined under one name; and when we are not aware that the 
Operation is complex, we may take one ingredient to be the 
whole, and overlook the other. 

In former ages, that moral power, by which human actions 
ought to be regulated, was called reason. and considered both by 


304 ESSAY V» 


philosophers, and by the vulgar, as the power of judging what. 
we ought, and what we ought not todo. 4 4) 
This is very fully expressed by Mr. Hume, in his Treatise of 
Human Nature, Book ii. part 3. sect. 3... Nothing ismore usual 
in philosophy, and even in common life, than to talk ¢ »com- 
bat of passion and reason, to give the preference to reason, and. 
assert that.men are only so far virtuous as they conform’ them- 
selyes toits dictates. Every rational creature, it is said, is obli- 
ged to regulate his actions by reason; and if any other motive 
or principle challenge the direction of his conduct, he ought to 
oppose it, till it be entirely subdued, or, at least, brought to a 
conformity to that superior principle. On this method of think- 
ing, the greatest part of moral philosophy, ancient and modern, 
seems to be founded.” otep ty od et 
That those philosophers attended chiefly to the judging pow- 
er of our moral faculty, appears from the names they gave teits- 
operations, and from the whole of their language concerning it. 
The modern philosophy has led men to attend chiefly to their 
sensations and feelings, and thereby to resolve into mere feeling; 
complex acts of the mind, of which feeling is only one in- 
gredient. HPA deg th, afY 
I had occasion, in the preceding Essays, to observe, that seve- 
ral operations of the mind, to which we give one name, and 
consider as one act, are compounded of more simple acts, inse- 
parably united in our constitution, and that in these, sensation or 
feeling often makes one ingredient. h tiy AE VAN Th 
Thus the appetites of hunger and thirst are compounded of an 
uneasy sensation, and the desire of food or drink. In our bene- 
yolent affections, there is both an agreeable feeling, anda desire 
of happiness to the object of our affection ; and malevolent af- 
fections have ingredients of a contrary nature. © | 
In these instances, sensation or feeling is inseparably conjomed 
with desire. In other instances, we find sensation inseparably 
conjoined with judgment or belief, and that in two different 
ways. In some instances, the judgment or belief seems to be 
the consequence of the sensation, and to be regulated by it. In’ 
other instances, the sensation is the consequence of the judg-. 
ment. : AS Fin yt 
When we perceiye an external object by our senses, we have 
a sensation conjoined with a firm: belief of the existence and) 
sensible qualities of the external object. ‘Nor has all the subtiz) 
lity of metaphysics been able to disjoin what nature has conjoitied” 
in our constitution. Des Cartes and Locke endeavour 
reasoning, to deduce the existence of external objects from our 
sensations, but in vain. Subsequent philosophers, finding no 
reason for this connexion, endeavoured to throw off the belief 
of externa! objects as being unreasonable ; but. this attempt is 


APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 305 


no less vain. Nature has doomed us to believe the testimony of 
our senses, whether we can give a good reason for doing so or 
note °°" ’ : 1 wei : Tt a a 

" In'this instance, the belief or judgment is the consequence of 
the sensation, as the sensation is the consequence of the impres- 
sion made on the organ of sense. : 

But in most of the operations of mind in which judgment or 
belief is combined with feeling, the feeling is the consequence 
of the judgment, and is regulated by it. 

‘Thus, an account of the good conduct of a friend at a distance 
gives me a very agreeable feeling, and a contrary account would 
give mea very uneasy feeling; but these feelings depend en- 
tirely upon my belief of the report. 

In hope, there is an agreeable feeling, depending upon the be- 
lief or expectation of good to come: fear is made up of contrary 
ingredients ; in’ both, the feeling is regulated by the degree of 
belief. 

In the respect we bear to the worthy, and in our contempt of 
the worthless, there is both judgment and feeling, and the last 
depends entirely upon the first. . 

The same may be «aid of gratitude for good offices, and re- 
sentment of injuries. ; 

Let meow consider how I am affected when I see a man ex- 
erting himself nobly ina good cause. Iam conscious that the 
effect of his conduct on my mind iscomplex, though it may be 
called by one name. I look upto his virtue, ] approve, f admire 
it. Indoing so, I have pleasure indeed, or an agreeable feeling ; 
this is granted. But | find myself interested in his success and 
inhis fame. This is affection ; it is love and esteem, which is 
more than mere feeling. The man is the object of this esteem ; 
butin mere feeling there is no object. thea 

Tam likewise conscious, that this agreeable feeling in me, and 
this esteem of him, depend entirely upon the judgment I form 
of his conduct. I judge that this conduct merits esteem; and, 
while I thus judge, I cannot but esteem him, and contemplate 
his conduct with pleasure. Persuade me that he was bribed, 
or that he acted from some mercenary or bad motive, immediate- 
ly my esteem and my agreeable feeling vanish. . 

In the approbation of a good action, therefore, there is 
feeling indeed, but there is also esteem of the agent; and beth 
the feeling and the esteem depend upon the judgment we form 
of his conduct. . 

When I exercise my moral faculty about my own actions or 
those of other men, I am conscious that I judge as well as feel. 
T accuse and excuse, I acquit and condemn, I assent and dissent, 
I believe, and disbelieve, and doubt. “These are acts of judg- 
ment. and not feelings. ' 


506 ESSAY Y. 


_ Every determination of the understanding,’ with regard to 
what is true or false, is judgment. That | ought not to steal, 
or to kill, or to bear false witness, are propositions, of the truth 
of which | am as well convinced as of ‘any proposition in 
Euclid. | am conscious that I judge them to be true proposi- 
tions; and my consciousness makes all other) arguments 
unnecessary. with regard to the operations of my own mind. ~ 
_ That ether men judge, as well as feel, in such cases, Tam 
convinced, because they understand me when I express my 
moral judgment, and express theirs by the same terms and 
phrases. : . OFM ibojshy, Per ibe dL # 
Suppose that, in a case well known to both, my friend says, 
Such a man did well and worthily ; his conduct ts highly prior le. 
This speech, according to all rules of interpretation, expresses my 
friend’s judgment of the man’s conduct. This judgment may 
be true or false, and I may agree in opinion with him, or 1 may 
dissent from him without offence, as we may differ in other 
matters of judgment. , to 
Suppose, again, that, in relation to the same case, my friend 
says, The man’s conduct gave me a very agreeable feeling. 
This speech, if approbation be nothing but an agreeable 
feeling, must have the very same meaning with the first, and 
express neither more nor less. But this cannot be, for two 
reasons. Lee le PO epee 
ist, Because there is no rule in grammar or rhetoric, nor any 
usage in language, by which these two speeches ean be con- 
strued, so as to have the same meaning. The first expresses 
plainly an opinion or judgment of the conduct of the man, ‘but 
says nothing of the speaker. The second onily testifies a fact 
concerning the speaker ; to wit, that he had such a feeling. —~ 
Another reason why these two speeches cannot mean the same 
thing is, that the first may be contradicted without any ground 
of offence, such contradiction being only a difference of opinion, 
which, to a reasonable man, gives no offence. But the second 
speech cannot be contradicted without an affront; for, as‘every 
man must know his own feelings, to deny that a man had a feel- 
ing which he affirms he had, is to charge him with falsehood. 
If moral approbation be a real judgment, which produces an ~ 
agreeable feeling in the mind of him who judges, both speeches 
are perfectly intelligible, in the most obvious and literal senses 
Their meaning is different, but they are related, so that the one 
may be inferred from the other, as we infer the rete 
cause, or the cause from the effect. I know, that what a m 
judges to be a very worthy action, he contemplates with 
pleasure; and what he contemplates with pleasure, must, in 
his judgment, have worth. But the judgment and the feeling 
are different acts of his mind, though connected as cause and 


wii? 


APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 307 


effect. He can express either the one or the other with 
perfect propriety ; but the speech which expresses his feeling 
is altogether improper and inept to express his judgment, for 
this evident reason, that judgment and feeling, though in some 
eases connected, are things in their nature different. 

_ If we suppose, on the other hand, that moral approbation is 
nothing more than an agreeable feeling, occasioned by the con- 
templation of an action, the second speech above mentioned 
has a distinct meaning, and expresses all that is meant by moral 
approbation. But the first speech either means the very same 
thing, which cannot be, for the reasons already mentioned, or 
it has no meaning. 

Now, we may appeal to the reader, whether, in conversation 
upon human characters, such speeches as the first are not as 
frequent, as familiar, and as well understood, as any thing in 
language ; and whether they have not been common in all ages 
that we can trace, and in al] languages ? 

This doctrine, therefore, that moral approbation is merely a 
feeling without judgment, necessarily carries along with it this 
consequence, that.a form of speech, upon one of the most com- 
mon topics of discourse, which either has no meaning, or a 
meaning irreconcileable to all rules of grammar or rhetoric, is 
found to be common and familiar in all languages, and in all 
ages of the world, while every man knows how to express the 
meaning, if it have any, in plain and proper language. 

Such a consequence | think sufficient to sink any philosophi- 
cal opinion on which it-hangs. 

A particular language may have some oddity, or even ab- 
surdity, introduced by some man of eminence, from caprice 
or wrong judgment, and followed, by servile imitators, fora 
time, till it be detected, and, of consequence, discountenanced 
and dropt; but that the same absurdity should pervade all 
languages, through all ages, and that, after being detected and 
exposed, it should still keep its countenance and its place in 
language as much as before, this can never be while men have 
understanding. 

It may be observed, by the way, that the same argument may 
be applied, with equal force. against those other paradoxical 
opinions of modern philosophy, which we before mentioned as 
connected with this, such as, that beauty and deformity are not 
at all in the objects to which language universally ascribes 
them, but are merely feelings in the mind of the spectator ; 
that the secondary qualities are not in external objects, but 
are merely feelings or sensations in him that perceives them; 
and, in general, that our external and internal senses are 
faculties. by which we have sensations or feelings only, but by 
which we do not judge. . 


308 ESSAY V. 


That every torm of speech, which language ;atlords, to 
express our judgments, should, in all ages, and i languages, 
be used to express what is no judgment; and feeling 
which are easily expressed in proper language, should as 
universally be expressed by language altogether improper and 

‘absurd, I cannot believe; and therefore must conclude, that if 
language be the expression of thought, menjudge of the prima- 
ry and secondary qualities of body by their external senses, of 
beauty and deformity, by their taste, and of virtue and vice, by 
their moral faculty, 3a U8 saith Daakd,. ond Aomnee li peamdue 

A truth so evident as this is, can hardly be obscured and 
brought into doubt, but by the abuse of words... And much 
abuse of words there has been upon this subject. .To avoid 
this, as much as possible, I have used the word judgment, on 
one side, and sensation, or feeling, upon the other; because 
these words have been least liable to abuse jor ambiguity. 
But it may be proper to make some observations ae 
words that have been used in this controversy... 

_Mr. Hume, in his Treatise of Human Nature, has employed 
two sections upon it, the titles of which are, Moral Distinctions 
not derived from Reason, and. Moral. Distinctions derived from a 
Moral Sense. i: tnadedh ome enene 
_ When he is not, by custom, led unawares to speak of reason 
like other men, he limits that word to signify only the power of 
judging in matters merely. speculative. . Hence he concludes, 
‘‘ That reason of itself is inactive and perfectly inert.” . That 
“actions may be laudable or blameable, but cannot be reasona- 
ble or unreasonable.”” That ‘‘it is not contrary to reason, to 
prefer the destruction of the whole world to the scratching of 
my finger.’? That “it is not contrary to reason, for me to 
choose my total ruin to prevent the least uneasiness of an 
Indian, or of a person wholly unknown to me.” That “reason 
is, and ought only to be, the slave of the passions, and can 
never pretend to any other office, than to serve and obey them.”? 

If we take the word reason to mean what common use, both 
of philosophers, and of the vulgar, has made it to mean, these 
maxims are not only false, but licentious._Itis only his abuse 
of the words reason and passion, that can justify them from this 
censure. . eens 

The. meaning of a common word is not to be ascertained by 
philosophical theory, but by common usage ; and if a man will 
take the liberty of limiting or extending the meaning of comt 
words at his pleasure, he may, like Mandeviile,, Se puaintie 
most licentious paradoxes with the appearance of, plausibility. 
I have before made some observations upon the meaning of 
this word, Essay Il. chap. 2. and Essay JII. part 3..chap. 1. to 
which the reader is referred. asdtutcpenen sigaile 


fas 


APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 50S 


When Mr. Hume derives moral distinctions from a moral 
sense; I agree with him in words, but we differ about the 
meaning of the word sense. _ Every power to which the name 
of a sense has been given, is a power of judging of the objects 
of that sense, and has been accounted such in all ages; the 
moral sense therefore is the power of judging in morals. But 
Mr. Hume will have the moral sense to be only a power of 
feeling, without judging : this I take to be an abuse of a word. 

Authors who place moral approbation in feeling only, very 
often use the word sentiment, to express feeling without judg- 
ment. This I take likewise to be an abuse of a word. Our 
moral determinations may, with propriety, be called mora 
sentiments. For the word sentiment, in the English language, 
never, as | conceive, signifies mere feeling, but judgment 
accompained with feeling. It was wont to signify opinion or 
judgment of any kind, but, of late, is appropriated to signify 
an opinion or judgment, that strikes, and produces some 
agreeable or uneasy emotion. So we speak of sentiments of 
respect, of esteem, of gratitude. But I never heard the pain 
of the gout, or any other mere feeling, called a sentiment. 

Even the word judgment has been used by Mr. Hume to 
express what he maintains to be only a feeling. | Treatise of 
Human Nature, part 3. page 3. ‘The term perception is no 
less applicable to those judgments by which we distinguish moral 

ood and evil, than to every other operation of the mind,?? 
Perhaps he used this word inadvertently; for I think there 
cannot be a greater abuse of words, than to put judgment for 
what he held to be mere feeling. . 

All the words most commonly used, both by philosophers and 
by the vulgar, to express the operations of our moral faculty, 
such as decision, determination, sentence, approbation, disapproba- 
tion, applause, censure, praise; blame, necessarily imply judgment 
in their meaning. When, therefore, they are used by Mr. 
Hume, and others who hold his opinion, to signify feelings only, 
this is an abuse of words. If these philosophers wish to speak 
plainly and properly, they must, in discoursing of morals, discard 
these words altogether, because their established signification 
in the language, is contrary to what they would express by 
them. 

. They must likewise discard from morals the words oughi and 
ought not, which very properly express judgment, but cannot be 
applied to mere feelings. Upon these words Mr. Hume has 
made a particular observation in the conclusion of his first 
section above mentioned. | shall give it in his own words, and 
make some remarks upon it. 

“ Tcannot forbear adding to these reasonings, an observation 
which may, perhaps, be found of some importance. In every 

VOb. II. 40 


310, ESSAY V, 


system of. morality which I have hitherto met with, I have 
always remarked, that the author proceeds for some time in the 
erdinary way of reasoning, and establishes the being of a God, 
er makes observations concerning human affairs; when, of a 
sudden, I am surprised to find, that, instead of the usual copula- 
tions of propositions, ¢s, and is not. | meet with no proposition 
that is not connected with an oughé, or an ought not. This 
change is imperceptible, but is, however, of the last consequence. 
For as this ought or ought not expresses some new relation or 
affirmation, it is necessary that it should be observed and 
explained; and, at the same time, that a reason should be 
given for what seems altogether inconceivable; how this new 
relation can be a deduction from others which are entirely 
different from it. But as authors do not commonly use this 
precaution, I shall presume to recommend it to the readers; 
and I am persuaded that this small attention would subvert all 
the vulgar systems of morality, and let us see, that the distinc- 
tion of vice and virtue is not founded merely on the relations 
of objects, nor is perceived by reason.” no hiaawy 
We may here observe, that it is acknowledged, that the words 
eught and ought not express some relation or affirmation; but 
a relation or affirmation which Mr. Hume thought inexplicable, 
- or, at least, inconsistent with his system of morals. . He must, 
therefore, have thought, that they ought hot to be used in 
treating of that subject. \ SAt on leet eaters 
He likewise makes two demands, and, taking it for granted 
that they cannot be satisfied, is persuaded, that an attention to 
this is sufficient to subvert all the vulgar systems. of morals.. — 
- The first demand is, that ought and ought not be explained. 
To aman that understands English, there are surely no words 
that require explanation less. Are not all men taught, fyom their 
early years, that they ought not to lie, nor steal, nor swear false- 
ly ? But Mr. Hume thinks, that men never understood what 
these precepts mean, or rather that they are unintelligible. » If 
this be so, I think indeed it will follow, that all the vulgar systems 
of morals are subverted. SAG Ruan aman 6 
_ Dr. Johnson, in his Dictionary, explains the word ‘ought to 
signify, being obliged by duty; and 1 know no better explica- 
tion that can be given of it. The reader will see what I thought 
necessary to say concerning the moral relation expressed by 
this word, in Essay II]. part 3. chap. 5... _ “ffx astiio tna 
. The second demand is, that a reason should be given why this 
relation should be a deduction from others, which are entirely 
different from it. » ieee 
This is to demand a reason for what does notexist. The first 
principles of morals are not deductions... They are self-evident; 
and their truth, like that of other axioms, is perceived without 


APPROBATION {MPLIES JUDGMENT. 311 


reasoning or deduction. And moral truths, that are not self-evi- 
dent, are deduced not from relations quite different from them, 
but from the first principles of morals. 

' Jn a matter so interesting to mankind, and so frequently the 
subject of conversation among the learned and the unlearned, 
as morals is, it may surely be expected that men will express 
both their judgments and their feelings with propriety, and con- 
sistently with the rules of language. An opinion, therefore, which 
makes the language of all ages and nations, upon this subject, 
to be improper, contrary to all rules of language, and fit to be 
discarded, needs no other refutation. ; 

As mankind have, in all ages, understood reason to mean the 
power, by which not only our speculative opinions, but our ac- 
tions ought to be regulated, we may say, with perfect propriety, 
that all vice is contrary to reason ; that, by reason, we are to 
judge of what we ought to do, as well as of what we ought to 
believe. 

But though all vice be contrary to reason, f conceive that it 
would not be a proper definition of vice to say, that it is a con- 
duct contrary to reason, because this definition would apply 
equally to folly, which all men distinguish from vice. " 

There are other phrases which have been used on the same 
side of the question, which | see no reason for adopting, such 
as, acting contrary to the relations of things, contrary to the rea- 
sonof things, to the fitness of things, to the truth of things, to ab- 
solute fitness. These phrases have not the authority of common 
use, which, in matter of language, is great. They seem to 
have been invented by some authors, with a view to explain the 
nature of vice; but I do not think they answer that end. If 
intended as definitions of vice, they are improper; because, 
in the most favourable sense they can bear, théy extend to 
every kind of foolish and absurd conduct, as*well as to that 
which is vicious. 

I shall conclude this chapter with some observations upon 
the five arguments which Mr. Hume has offered upon this point 
in his Inquiry. PORE: 

The first is, That it is impossible that the hypothesis he op- 

oses, can, in any particular instance, be so much as rendered 
intelligible, whatever specious figure it may make in general 
discourse. ‘“‘ Examine,” says he, “the crime of imgratitude, 
anatomize all its circumstances, and examine, by your reason 
alone, in what consists the demerit or blame, you will never 
come to any issue or conclusion.” 

I think it unnecessary to follow him through all the accounts 
of ingratitude which he conceives. may be given by those whom 
he opposes, because I agree with him in that which he himself 
adopts, to wit, “‘ That this crime arises from a complication of 


aFe ESSAY Vv. 


circumstances, which, being presentéd to the spectator, excites 
. the sentiment of blame by the particular structure and fabric of 
his mind.” 10 SES IS oo ; 
This he thought a true and intelligible account of the crimi- 
nality of ingratitude. So dol. And therefore 1 think the hy- 
pothesis he opposes is intelligible, when applied ‘to a particular 
instance. 11RD AO (Toke ae Tine 
_ Mr. Hume, no doubt, thought that the account he gives of 
ingratitude is inconsistent with the hypothesis he opposes; and 
could not be adopted hy those who hold that hypothesis. “He 
could be led to think so, only by taking for granted one of 
these two things. Hither, Ist, that the sentiment of blame means 
a feeling only, without judgment; or 2dly, that whatever is ex- 
cited by the particular fabric and structure of the mind, must 
be feeling only, and not judgment. But I cannot grant either 
the one or the other. 6 POit bere 
For as to the first, it seems evident to me, that both sentiment 
and blame imply judgment ; and, therefore, that the sentiment of 
blame means a judgment accompanied with feeling, and not mere 
feeling without judgment. Sv reihnwes Gis ony £ 
~ The second can as little be granted ; for no operation of mind, 
whether judgment or feeling, can be excited but by that parti- 
eular structure and fabric of the mind which makes us'capable 
of that operation. : Poy HO) aly 
By that part of our fabric, which we call the faculty of séeing, 
we jadge of visible objects: by taste, another part of our fabric, 
we judge of beauty and deformity ; by that part of our fabric, 
which enables us to form abstract conceptions, to compare ‘them, 
and perceive their relations, we judge of abstract truths; and - 
by that part of our fabric which we call the moral faculty; we 
judge of virtue and vice. If we suppose @ being without any 
moral faculty in his fabric, I grant that he could not have the 
sentiments of blame and moral approbation, 6) 1 
There are, therefore, judgments, as well as feelings, that are 
excited by the particular structure and fabric of the mind.” But 
there is this remarkable difference between them, that every 
judgment is, in its own nature, trae or false; and though it de- 
en upon the fabric of the mind, whether it have sucha judg- 
ent or not, it depends not upon that fabric whether the judg- 


ment be true or not. A true judgment will be true, whatever 


be the fabric of the mind; but a particular structure and fabric 
is necessary, in order to our perceiving that truth. Nothing 
like this can be said of mere feelings, because the attributes of 
true or false do not belong to them. enh an d eae 
‘Thus I think it appears, that the hypothesis which Mr. Hume 
opposes, is not unintelligible, when applied to the particular in- - 
stance of ingratitude; because the account of ingratitude which 


APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 313 


he himself thinks true and intelligible, is perfectly agreeable 
te die) 

The second argument amounts to this: that in moral delibe- 
ration, we must be acquainted beforehand with all the objects 
and all their relations. After these things are known, the un- 
derstanding bas no further room to operate. Nothing remains 
but to feel, on our part, soe sentiment of blame or approba- 
tion. 

Let us apply this reasoning to the office of a judge. Ina 
cause that comes before him, he must be made acquainted with 
all the objects, and all their relations. After this, his understand- 
ing has no farther room to operate. Nothing remains, on his 

rt, but to feel the righit or the wrong ; and mankind have very 
absurdly called hima judge; he ought to be called a feeler. 

To answer this argument more directly: the man who de-~ 
liberates, after all the objects and relations mentioned by Mr. 
Hume, are known to him, has'a point to determine ; and that is, 
whether the action under his deliberation ought to be done, or 
ought not. In most cases, this point will appear self-evident to 
a man who has been accustomed to exercise his moral judg- 
ment; im some cases it may require reasoning. 

In like manner, the judge, after all the circumstances of the 
cause are known, has to judge, whether the plaintiff has a just 
plea or not. 

The third argument is taken from the analogy between 
moral beauty and natural, between moral sentiment and taste. 
As beauty is not a quality of the object, but a certain feeling 
of the spectator, so virtue and vice are not qualities in the 
persons to whom language ascribes them, but feelings of the 
spectator. 

But is it certain that beauty is not any quality of the object? 
This is indeed a paradox of.modern philosophy, built upon a 
philosophical theory ; but a paradox so contrary to the common 
Janguage and common sense of mankind, that it ought rather to 
overturn the theory on which it stands, than receive any support 
from it. And if beauty be really a quality of the object, and 
not merely a feeling of the spectator, the whole force of this 
argument goes over to the other side of the question. 

“Euclid,” he says, ‘has fully explained all the qualities of 
the circle, but has not, in any proposition, said a word of its 
beauty. The reason is evident. The beauty isnot a quality of 
the circle.” 

By the qualities of the circle, he must mean its properties ; and 
there are here two mistakes. 

ist, Euclid has not fully explained all the properties of the 
circle. Many have been discovered and demonstrated which 
he never dreamed of. 


614 - , ESSAY VY. 


2dly, The reason why Euclid has not said a word of the 
beauty of the circle, is not, that beauty is not a quality of the 
ewcele; the reason is, that Euclid never digresses from his 
subject... His purpose was to demonstrate the mathematical 
properties of the circle. Beauty is a quality of the cirele, not 
demonstrable by mathematical reasoning, but. ‘immediately 
perceived by a good taste. 1lospeak of it would have been a 
digression from his subject ; and that is a fault he is never guilty 
1 nia irpios’ ad biaerte 
The fourth argument is, that inanimate objects may bear 
to each other all the same relations which we observe in moral 
agents. — hid acl? 
If this were true, it would be very much to the purpose : but 
it seems to be thrown out rashly, »without any attention to its 
evidence. Had Mr. Hume reflected but a very little upon this 
dogmatical assertion, a thousand instances would have occarred’ 
to him in direct contradiction to it. tettolim bar 
May not one animal be more tame, or more docile, or more 
cunning, or more fierce, or more ravenous, than another? Are 
these relations to be found in inanimate objects?) May not one 
man be a better painter, or sculptor, or ship-builder, or tailor, 
or shoemaker, than another ? Are these relations to be found in 
inanimate objects, or even in brute animals?) May not one 
moral agent be more just, more pious, more attentive to any. 
moral duty, or more eminent in any moral virtue, than another ? 
Are not these relations peculiar to moral agents? » But tocome 
- to the relations most essential to morality. 9) ©) 
When I say that I ought to do such an action, that it is my duty, 
do not these words express a relation between me anda certain 
action in. my power; a relation which cannot be between inani- 
mate objects, or between any other objects but a moral agent 
and his moral actions: a relation which is well understood by 
all men come to years of understanding, and expressed in all 
languages ? ‘ bial | 
Again, when in deliberating about two actions in my power, 
which cannot both be done, I say this ought to be preferred to 
the other; that justice, for instance, ought to be preferred to 
generosity; I express a moral relation between two actions of a — 
moral agent, which is well understood, and which cannot exist 
between objects of any other kind. , 
There are, therefore, moral relations which can have no ex= 
istence but between moral agents and their voluntary actions. 
To determine these relations is the object of morals; and to 
determine relations, is the province of judgment, and not of 
mere feeling. i) Teeter 
The last argument is a chain of several propositions which 
deserve distinct consideration. They may, 1 think, be summed 


ay oboe 


APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. . 316 


up in these four: ist, There must be ultimate ends of action, 
beyond which it is absurd to ask a reason of acting. 2dly, The | 
ultimate ends of human actions can never be accounted for by 
reason ; 3dly, But recommend themselves entirely to the senti- 
ments and affections of mankind, without any dependence on 
the ‘intellectual faculties. 4thly, As virtue is an end, and is 
desirable on its own account, without fee or reward, merely for 
the immediate satisfaction it conveys; it is requisite, that there 
should be some sentiment which it touches, some internal taste 
or feeling, or whatever you please to call it, which distinguishes 
moral good and evil, and which embraces the one, and rejects 
the other. a i 

To the firstof these propositions I entirely agree. The 
ultimate ends of action are what I have called the principles of 
action, which I have endeavoured, in the third Essay, to enu- 
merate, aud to class under three heads of mechanical, animal, 
and rational. 

The second proposition needs some explication. I take its 
meaning to be, that there cannot be another end for the sake of . 
which an ultimate end is pursued : for the reason of an action 
means nothing but the end for which the action is done ; and the 
reason of an end of action can mean nothing but another end, 
for the sake of which that end is pursued, and to which it is the 
means. 

That this is the author’s meaning is evident from his reason- 
ing in confirmation of it. “Ask a man, why he uses exercise ? 
he will answer, because he desires to keep his health. If you then 
inquire, why he desires healih? he will readily reply, because 
sickness is painful. If you push your inquiries further, and 
desire a reason why he hates pain, it is impossible he can ever 
give any. Thisis an ultimate end, and is never referred to any 
other object.””. To account by reason for an end, therefore, is to 
show another end, for the sake of which that end is desired and 
pursued. And that, in this sense, an ultimate end can never be 
accounted for by reason, is certain, because that cannot be an 
ultimate end which is pursued only for the sake of another end. 

l agree therefore with Mr. Hume in this second proposition, 
which indeed is implied in the first. 

The third proposition is, that ultimate ends recommend them- 
selves entirely to the sentiments and affections of mankind, 
without any dependence on the intellectual faculties. 

By sentiments, he must here mean feelings without judgment, 
and by affections, such affections as imply no judgment. For 
surely any operation that implies judgment, cannot be inde- 
pendent of the intellectual faculties. 

This being understood, I cannot assent to this proposition. 

The author seems to think it implied in the preceding, or a 


316 ESSAY V. 


necessary consequence from it, that because an ultimate end 
cannot be accounted for by reason; that is, cannot be pursued 
merely for the sake of another end; therefore itean have no 
dependence on the intellectual faculties. I deny this. conse- 


_ quence, and can see no force in it. ye ee 
. I think it not only does not follow from the preceding propo- 
sition, but that it is contrary to truthe 945 ) be gugoy 


. Aman may act from gratitude as an ultimate end 3 but grati- 
_ tude implies a judgment and belief of favours, received, and 
therefore is dependent on the intellectual faculties....A. man 
may act from respect to a worthy character as an ultimate 
end; but this respect necessarily implies a judgment of worth — 
in the person, and therefore is dependent on, the intellectual 
faculties. . e» bas er doniibabagal 
I have endeavoured in the third Essay before mentioned to 
_ show that, beside the animal principles of our nature, which 
require will and intention, but not judgment, there,are also.in 
human _ nature rational principles of action, or ultimateends, 
which have, in all ages, been called rational, and have a just 
title to that name, not only from the authority of language, but 
because they can have no existence but in beings endowed with 
_ reason, and because, in all their exertions, they require not only 
intention and will, but judgment or reason. Liaise Aaa 
Therefore, until it can be proved that an ultimate end cannot 
be dependent on the intellectual faculties, this third proposition, 
and all that hangs upon it, must fall to the ground.) ... 
The last proposition assumes, with very good reason, that virtue 
_ is an ultimate end, and desirable on its, own account. . From 
which, if the third proposition were true, the conclusion would 
- undoubtedly follow, that virtue has no dependence on the intel- 
lectual faculties. But as that proposition is not granted, nor 
proved, this conclusion is left without any support from the 
whole of the argument. ‘ieee si-oonel 
I should not have thought it worth while to insist so longupon 
this controversy, if 1 did not conceive. that the consequences 
which the contrary opinions draw after them are important. |. 
If what we call moral judgment be no real.judgment, but _ 
merely a feeling, it follows, that the principles of morals, which 
we have been taught to consider as an immutable law to all in- 
telligent beings, have no other foundation but an arbitrary struc- 
ture and fabric in the constitution of the human mind: so that, 
by a change in our structure, what is immoral might become 
moral, virtue might be turned into vice, and vice into virtue. 
And beings of a different structure, according to the variety of 
their feelings, may have different, nay opposite measures of 
moral good and evil. , 
It follows that, from our notions of morals, we can conclude 


APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMEN’, 317 


nothing concerning a moral character in the Deity, which is 
the foundation of all religion, and the strongest support of 
virtue. 

Nay, this opinion seems to conclude strongly against a moral 
character in the Deity, since nothing arbitrary or mutable can 
be conceived to enter into the description of a nature eternal, 
immutable, and necessarily existent. Mr. Hume seems perfectly 
consistent with himself, in allowing of no evidence for the moral 
attributes of the Supreme Being, whatever there may be for his 
natural attributes. 

On the other hand, if moral judgment be a true and real 
judgment, the principles of morals stand upon the immutable 
foundation of truth, and can undergo no change by any difference 
of fabric, or structure, of those who judge of them. There may 
be, and there are, beings, who have not the faculty of conceiving 
moral truths, or perceiving the excellence of moral worth, as 
there are beings incapable of perceiving mathematical truths ; 
but no defect, no error of understanding, can make what is true 
to be false. 

If it be true that piety, justice, benevolence, wisdom, temper- 
ance, fortitude, are in their own nature the most excellent and 
most amiable qualities of a human creature; that vice has an 
inherent turpitude which merits disapprobation and dislike ; 
these truths cannot be hid from Him whose understanding is 
infinite, whose judgment is always according to truth, and who 
must esteem every thing according to its real value. | 

The Judge of all the earth, we are sure, will do right. He 
has given to men the faculty of perceiving the right and the 
wrong in conduct, as far aseis necessary to our present state, and 
of perceiving the dignity of the one, and the demerit of the 
other ; and surely there can be no real knowledge or real excel- 
lence in man, which is not in his Maker. 

We may therefore justly conclude, that what we know in 
part, and see in part of right and wrong, he sees perfectly ; that 
the moral excellence which we see and admire in some of our 
fellow-creatures, is a faint but true copy of that moral excel- 
lence, which is essential to his nature ; and that to tread the path 
of virtue is the true dignity of our nature, an imitation of God, 
and the way to obtain his favour. 


THE END, 


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